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Beautiful But Poor. 


A Novel, by JULIA EDWAKDS, Author of 



NEW YOUK : The Select Series 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, i 

31 Rose Street. ' 


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I THE SELECT SERIES. 

A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION, 

Uevoted to G-ood U-eading in -American Fiction. 

Subscription Price, 16.00 Per Year. No. 38.— APRIL 1, 1890. 

CopyHghted, 1890, hy Street <£ Smith. 

Entered at the Post-Office, Neio York, as Second-Class Matter. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 

1 


BY 



JULIA EDWARDS, 

AUTHOR OF 

‘‘Frettiest of -All,” “The Little "Widow,^’ JStc, 


/ 


NEW YORK; 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose Street. 


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BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOK 


CHAPTER I. 

HATTIE’S LETTER. 

Fancy a dingy old brick house on B street, 

New York city — dusty outside and moldy in all its 
ragged, papered walls inside — a dreary house with 
small, poorly ventilated rooms — these rooms 
wretchedly furnished, and I have made you at 
home in ^'Miss Scrimp’s Boarding-House for ladies 
only — no gentlemen boarded, lodged, or admitted.” 

For this was the inscription on a faded tin sign 
nailed over the front door. 

And in this building existed— I will not say lived 
— most of the time, between thirty and fifty work- 
ing girls, attracted there by the cheapness of board, 
which enabled them to make ends meet on the 
wretched wages due to ‘‘hard times,” or hard- 
hearted employers, or perhaps to a medium between 
the two. 

Miss Scrimp, a maiden lady, who acknowledged 
herself to be forty five— one of the uldest boarders 
said that had been her age for over ten years— only 
charged four dollars a week for boarders in her best, 
lower rooms, and it ran as low as two dollars and a 


6 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


half in the upper story, and twO attic chambers— 
for this was a four-story house. She had but two 
servants — one to cook, wash, and iion, the other a 
pitiful, thin little creature, as errand girl, waitress, 
maid of all work, and all work it was for her, from 
early dawn till far into the night. She did all the 
sweeping, set out the table, helped to wash and wipe 
dishes, carried Miss Scrimp ’s market-basket, went to 
the grocery, cleaned and lighted lamps — indeed, did 
almost everything that had to be done outside of the 
kitchen, and bore the abuse of Biddy Lanigan, the 
cook, and that of her mistress, like a little martyr, 
as she in truth was. 

Little Jess they called her — her full name was 
Jessie Albemarle — was as good as she could be to 
all around her, no matter how she was treated, but 
there was one young girl in that house whom she 
almost worshiped — first, because Hattie Butler was 
very good to her; next, because Hattie was really 
the most beautiful creature she had ever seen on 
earth. 

Though Hattie lodged in the very topmost room 
of the house, when she came home weary from her 
daily toil she would find her room swept as clean as 
clean could be, fresh water in her pitcher, and often 
a bouquet of fiowers, picked up at market or else- 
where, perfuming the little room. And she knew 
Little Jess had done all this for the love there was 
^ between them. 

Hattie, I said before, was very beautiful. Just 
seventeen, and entering on her eighteenth yea^^, her 
form was full of that slender grace so peculiar to 
budding womanhood— just tall enough to pass the 
medium, without being an approach to awkward- 
ness. Eyes of a jet, sparkling black, shaded by 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


7 


long, fringe-like lashes, features of the Grecian type, 
complexion rich, but not too brown, the expressive- 
ness of her face a very marvel. 

No one, to look at her white hands, her slim, taper- 
ing fingers, her general appearance, even in her 
plain dress, would have, at first glance, taken her 
for a working girl, though she sewed folios in a 
book-hindery down town for ten hours every day 
sure, and often much longer when there was over- 
work to do. 

She was a quiet girl, making but few friends, and 
no intimates, though when I write of her she had 
been for nearly two years a boarder with Miss 
Scrimp. The latter, for a vonder, liked her, ’though, 
as a general thing, she seemed to hate pretty girls, 
simply because they were pretty ; while she had 
most likely kept her state of single wretchedness 
because she was more than plain— she was ugly. 
She had a sharp, hook nose— a parrot-bill nose, if we 
dare insult the bird by a comparison. She was cross- 
eyed, and her eyes were small and greenish-gray 
in hue. Her cheek bones were high, her chin long 
and sharp. Her thin lips opened almost from ear to 
ear, and in her dirty morning gown, slopping around, 
her form looked like an old coffee-bag, half filled 
with paper scraps, perambulating about over a pair 
of old slippers— number sevens if an inch. 

But Miss Scrimp really liked Hattie Butler, beauti- 
ful as she was, and this was the reason : 

At supper-time, before she ate a mouthful, every 
Saturday night Hattie laid her board money, two 
dollars and a half, down at the head of the table 
where Miss Scrimp presided. It had been her habit 
ever since she came ; it was a good example to 
others, though all did not follow it. 


8 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


Again, Hattie ate what was placed before her, and 
never grumbled. She never found hairs in the ran- 
cid butter ; or, if she did, she kept it to herself. If 
her bread was dry and hard she soaked it in her tea 
or coffee, but did not turn her nose up as others did, 
and threaten to go away if Miss Scrimp did not set 
a better table. 

And, best of all, Hattie was a light eater, as Miss 
Scrimp often said, in hearing of her other boarders, 
too sensible to hurt h^ complexion by using too 
much greasy food. ^ 

Some of the homelier girls sometimes used the old 
‘^gag,” if I may use a story term, and said ‘‘she lived 
on love yet the dozen or more who worked in the 
same bindery with her never saw her receive atten- 
tions from any man— never saw any person approach 
her in a lover-like way. 

Her only fault to all who knew her was that there 
was a mystery about her. 

That she was a born lady, her manners, her quiet, 
dignified way, her brief conversation, ever couched 
in unexceptionable language, told plainly. But she 
never told any one about herself. She never spoke 
of parents or relatives— never alluded to past for- 
tunes. But Little Jess used to look in wonder at a 
shelf of books in Hattie’s room. There were books 
in French, German, and Spanish, and on Sundays, 
when she sometimes stple up stairs to see her favor- 
ite among all the boarders, she found her reading 
these books. And she had a large portfolio of draw- 
ings, and at times she added to them with a skillful 
pencil. 

One thing was certain. Hattie was very poor — 
she had no income beyond that gained by her daily 
labor. She washed her own clothes, and, by per- 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OR. 


9 


mission of Biddy Lanigan, ironed them on Satur- 
day evenings in the kitchen, for she had even a kind 
word for Biddy, and kind words are almost as pre- 
cious as gold to the poor. 

Hattie seldom was able to earn over four dollars a 
week, as wages ran, and thus she had but little to 
use for dress, though she was ever dressed with ex- 
ceeding taste, plain though her garments were. 
These she cut and made, buying the patterns and 
goods only. 

When she had overwork she made more, and she 
had been seen with a bank-book in her hand, so it 
was evident she had saved something to help along 
with should sickness overtake her. 

She had been two years and one week boarding at 
Miss Scrimp’s, when one Thursday the postman, or 
mail-carrier, rather, delivered a letter at the door di- 
rected to her. 

Hattie was down at the bindery then, and Jessie 
Albemarle, answering the bell, got the letter. She 
would have kept it till Hattie came, but her mistress 
demanded to see it, and took charge of it. 

Little Jess had seen that it was a large letter, 
postmarked from somewhere in California, and that 
it had a singular seal in wax on the back. The im- 
pression represented two hearts pierced with an ar- 
row. 

The address was only the name, street, number, 
and city. 

Miss Scrimp looked at it very closely. Had there 
been no seal, only gum as a closing medium, it is 
possible her examination might have been closer. 

Biddy Lanigan, once when she quarreled with her 
mistress and employer, boldly twitted her with hav- 


10 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


ing ‘^stamed’’ letters over her ‘‘tay-kettle’’ and then 
opened them. 

‘‘This is a man’s handwrite!” muttered Miss 
Scrimp. “I don’t like my boarders having men to 
write to ’em. But this one is away off in Californy 
— like as not, rich as all creation. I wish I knew 
who he is and what he wants. I’ll hand her the let- 
ter afore all the boarders at supper to-night, and if 
she opens it. I’ll watch her face, and maybe I can 
guess from that what’s up. She’ll never tell no other 
way. She has iust the closest little mouth I ever did 
see. But come to think, she mightn’t open it at the 
table. She wouldn’t be apt to, for all the girls 
would be curious to know if it was a love-letter, and 
plague her, maybe. And she is too good a girl to be 
plagued. ITl keep it till after she has had supper 
and gone to her room, and then I’ll go up, friendly- 
like, and take a chair — if there’s two in her room, 
which I’m not sure of — hand her the letter, and wait 
till she opens it. And I’ll ask her if her brother in 
Californy is well— make as if some one had told me 
she had a brother there.” 

This plan, talked over to herself, satisfied Miss 
Scrimp, and she put the letter in one of her capa- 
cious pockets, there to remain till evening. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

MISS SCRIMP’S DISAPPOINTMENT. 

The cracked bell, which had done service all those 
long years in the establishment of Miss Scrimp, had 
rung its discordant call for supper. The hour was 
late, for many of her boarders worked till dark, and 
had some distance to walk to reach home, and the 
dining-room was dimly lighted by two hanging 
lamps, one over each end of the table. They served, 
hovrever, to show the scattered array of thin sliced 
bread, still thinner slices of cold meat, and the small 
plates of very pale butter laid along at distant inter- 
vals. Also to show dimly a few rosy faces, but 
many worn and pale ones — almost all having, like 
Cassius, ‘‘a lean and hungry look.” 

The rosy faces were new-comers, who had left 
good country homes to learn sad lessons in city life. 

Little Jessie was hurrying to and fro, carrying 
the cups of hot beverage, which her mistress called 
tea, to the boarders, and answering the impatient 
cries of those not yet served as fast as she could. 

Biddy Lanigan, who stood almost six feet high, 
was fleshy to boot, and had a face almost as red as 
the coals she worked over, stood with her arms 
akimbo at the door, which opened into the kitchen, 
ready for a bitter answer should any fault-finder’s 
voice reach her ear, and also prepared to refill the 
tea-urn with hot water when it ran low, on the prin- 
ciple that a second cup of tea should never be as 
strong as the first. 

There was a murmur of many voices at first, but 


12 


BE A XJTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


the clatter of knives and forks, and cups and sau- 
cers soon drowned all this, and until the dishes were 
literally emptied, little other noise could be heard. 

Long before the rest were done sweet Hattie But- 
ler had finished her single slice of bread and butter, 
one cracker and a cup of tea, and gone to her room. 
Grim and silent, yet keenly overlooking the appe- 
tite of each boarder, sat Miss Scrimp, until all were 
through, and had gone to their rooms, or into the 
old dingy room, slanderously called a parlor, to chat 
awhile before retiring. 

Then Biddy Lanigan came in with two extra cups 
of strong tea, one for the mistress, the other for her- 
self— a plate of baked potatoes and a couple of nice 
chops. 

Poor Jessie Albemarle had her supper to make 
from the little — the very little the hungry boarders 
had left. 

Miss Scrimp was not long at the table. She was 
burning with curiositv about the letter in her pocket, 
and so she took a small lamp in her hand and 
threaded her way up the steep, narrow, uncarpeted 
stairs to the attic where our heroine lodged. 

Knocking at the door, it was opened by Hattie 
quickly, who, with her wealth of jet-black hair, 
glossy as silk, all let down over her shoulders, 
looked, if possible, tenfold more beautiful than she 
had below, with her hair neatly bound up so as not 
to be in the way when she was at her work. 

Hattie had been reading, for on her little stand, 
near the bed, was a lamp and an open book. 

There were not two chairs in the room, but Hattie 
proffered her only one to Miss Scrimp, and waited to 
learn the cause of this unexpected visit, for Miss 
Scrimp never called on a boarder without she was 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


13 


behind hand in her board, and then her calls were 
not visits of compliment or pleasure either. 

‘‘I do declare — only one chair here, Miss Hattie? 
It’s a shame — I’ll rate Jess soundly for her ne- 
fi^lect!” said Miss Scrimp, looking around as if she 
did not know how poorly the room was furnished. 

‘‘Do not scold her. Miss Scrimp. I do not need but 
one chair — I never have any company to occupy 
another. Sit down — I will sit on my bed as I often 
do.” 

‘‘Well — thankee, I will sit down, for it is tiresome 
coming up those long stairs. I came up to tell you 
I had a letter for you the letter-carrier left to-day. I 
didn’t want to give it to you down at table, for them 
giddy girls are always noticing everything, and they 
might have thought it was a love-letter, and tried to 
tease you. Here it is.” 

“Thank you. Miss Scrimp, you were very consider- 
ate,” said Hattie, gently, as she received the letter, 
looked calmly at the superscription, and then opened 
it at the end of the envelope with a dainty little 
pearl-handled knife. 

Miss Scrimp watched every shade on Hattie’s face 
as the girl read the letter. There was an eager look 
in her eyes as they scanned the first few lines, then 
a sudden pallor, and it was followed by a tremulous 
fiush that suffused brow, cheeks, and even her 
neck. 

In spite of an apparent endeavor to keep calm, 
Hattie was to some extent agitated. She knew that 
those cross-eyes were fixed upon her, and she did 
not intend, if she had a secret, to share it with the 
owner of them. 

In a very short time the letter was read and re- 
stored to its envelope, and now Miss Scrimp thought 


14 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


it time to try the plan she had formed for finding 
out who had written to her favorite boarder. 

“Hope you’ve good news from your brother, Miss 
Hattie,” she said. “I heard some one say you had 
a brother in Californy. Hope he is doin’ well. It’s 
an awful country for gettin’ rich in, I’ve heard say.’ 

“My letter brings me very pleasant news. Miss 
Scrimp. I thank you again for the trouble you took 
to bring it up to me. You are always kind to me.” 

“I ought to be, dear. I haven’t another boarder 
in this house, out of forty-three all told now, who is 
as punctual and so little trouble as you. And you 
can tell your brother so when you write to him.” 

“When I do write to my brother I will surely 
mention you. Miss Scrimp,” said Hattie, with an 
amused smile. 

For, with quick intuition, she saw the aim of the 
curious wom_an. 

“You didn’t say if he was doing well?” continued 
Miss Scrimp, determined to get some information. 

“The letter only refers to business of mine — not to 
that of any one else,” said Hattie, gently but firmly. 

“You’ll not answer it now, will you? I might mail 
it early, you know, when I go out for milk, for I’m 
first up in the house.” 

“I shall not answer it to-night. Miss Scrimp. I am 
very tired, and am going right to bed. I thank you 
for your kind offer as much as if I accepted it.” 

Beaten at every point, and so gently and gra- 
ciously that she could not take offense. Miss Scrimp 
took up her lamp with a sigh, and said : 

“Poor, dear thing, I know you must be tired. If 
your brother is getting rich, as he must be, there in 
that land of silyer and gold, I should think he’d 
send for you to go to him.” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


15 


‘^Good-night, kind Miss Scrimp— good-night,’’ was 
all that Hattie answered, as she made a motion 
toward preparing for bed. 

“Good-night, dear — good-night,” said Miss Scrimp, 
a little snappishly, for she had made that long, up- 
stair journey for nothing. 

The door closed, and poor Hattie was alone. 

And tears came into her eyes now, and she knelt 
down and prayed. 

“Heavenly Father, aid me and tell me what to 
do.” 


16 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH. 


, CHAPTEE III. 

; THE foreman’s discovery. 

The bindery in which Hattie Butler, with over 
one hundred other persons, male and female, 
worked, was famous for doing very fine private 
work, outside of that done for many publishers who 
had their work contracted for there. Gentlemen of 
wealth and taste, who had rare old works In worn- 
out covers, and wished them preserved in more 
stately dress, frequently brought them there for the 
purpose of outer renovation. 

So it happened that on the very morning which 
succeeded the night when Hattie received the Cali- 
fornia letter, a fine equipage, from far up town, 
stopped in the narrow street which fronted the 
bindery, and an elderly, old-fashioned gentleman 
got out and toiled up the stairs to the bindery floor 
with a bundle of some size under one arm. 

He was met, quite obsequiously, by Mr. W 

one of the proprietors, who knew, by past experi- 
ence, that some nice, well-payins: work was in 
view, and asked into the office. 

‘^Ho, no, T am in a hurry,” said the old gentle- 
man. ‘'I want to see your foreman — I have some 
French and German reviews here— old and rare— 
which are all to pieces and somewhat mixed up. I 
bought them at an auction— a regular old book- 
worm once owned them, but he died, and his grace- 
less heirs sold off the collection of years for a mere 
song, compared to their real value. I wish these 
properly collated, and bound nicely for my library.” 


beautiful but poor. 


17 


‘‘The foreman will wait upon you, Mr. Legare, in 
a few moments/’ said the proprietor. “Take a seat 
by this table.” 

The man of wealth sat down, and Mr. W sent 

a boy after the foreman. 

The latter came and looked over the mixed up 
and scattered pages with a perplexed look. 

“I’m afraid you can do nothing with them,” said 
Mr. Legare, noticing the expression in the foreman’s 
face. “I am sorry, for I doubt if a second copy of 
either work can be found in this city, or indeed in 
America.” 

“Try, Mr. Jones— try your very best,” said Mr. 
W , anxiously. 

“I think we can do it, sir,” said the foreman, 
brightening up. “I accidentally discovered that one 
of our girls, Hattie Butler, is a good linguist— reads 
German and French as well as she does English — 
one of our best and most quiet girls, too.” 

“Send for her, please,” said Mr. Legare. “I do so 
want to preserve these works in good shape.” 

And presently Hattie Butler stood before the trio 
— one of her employers, Mr. Legare, and the fore- 
man-calm and lady-like, neat in her white apron 
and brown calico dress, her black hair wound in a 
queenly crown about her shapely head. 

“Hattie, see what can be done with these old re- 
views,” said the foreman, with the familiar, bossy 
style peculiar to too many of his class. 

The young girl took up the French work, and in- 
stantly said : 

“This is very old. A French review of Dante’s 
‘Inferno.’ Some pages, I see, are misplaced; but if 
all are here, sir, I can soon arrange them.” 

Mr. W looked at Mr. Legare triumphantly. 


18 


BEA UTIFUL BUT PO OR, 


‘'The German work— can you arrange that also, 
young lady?’’ asked Mr. Legare, looking in wonder 
at this beautiful girl, so young, working here, yet 
evidently a scholar. 

Hattie took up the other review, glanced over the 
pages, and replied : 

“Yes, sir. I see that this is a bitter attack on 
Martin Luther, and must date with the first ages of 
the Protestant Reformation.” 

“Great Heaven! why, young lady, what are you 
doing here with such an education?” 

“Working, sir, as thousands do in this great city 
and elsewhere, for my daily bread.” 

“Sewing folios at the bench, and we have no bet- 
ter in the shop,” added the foreman. 

“Do you understand any other languages?” asked 
the wondering man of wealth. 

“Italian and Spanish, sir. I was taught by my 
mother, who was not only a fine linguist, but had 
traveled a great deal in the countries where these 
various languages are spoken. I was born in 
Italy.” 

“Yet of American parentage?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“This is no place for you, young lady. Your edu- 
cation should place you in a far higher sphere.” 

“Excuse me, sir. Shall I at once go to work to ar- 
range these pages? I will sew them myself when I 
have them all right, so there will be no mistake.” 

“Yes — yes — thank you. I will reward you well,” 
said Mr. Legare, with unusual warmth, for he was a 
very steady, precise old gentleman, generally, in all 
things. 

“Thank you, sir ; all pay and emoluments must go, 
to my employers. I receive my wages — no more.”- 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


19 


And Hattie, with a graceful bow, took up the scat- 
tered pages, and went to her work -bench. 

‘‘W , who on earth is this prodigy? The mis- 

tress of five languages— for she speaks English per- 
fectly, and as pretty and lady-like as any woman 
that I ever met.” 

The proprietor almost blushed when he said : 

“My dear Mr. Legare, she has worked here, I be- 
lieve, for nearly two years, at the same bench, and 
until to-day I never knew her acquirements. I have 
often noticed her beauty and extreme modesty, for 
she has avoided all intimacies in the shop, but noth- 
ing beyond this has attracted my notice. I never 
make myself familiar with my hands— seldom speak 
to them, except through the foreman. I am as much 
surprised as you at this discovery, and shall pro- 
mote the girl at once, and increase her wages. Our 
work has increased so much— private work, like 
yours, that as a collator, translator, and arranger, 
she will have enough to do nearly all the time. Mr. 
Jones, you can so inform her, and prepare a table in 
some quiet part of the shop, where there is little 
noise, and she will not be disturbed.” 

The foreman turned away with a bow of acquies- 
cence, but was recalled to receive directions as to 
the style of binding required by Mr. Legare for the 
new works. 

“This young lady— Miss Butler, I believe, is her 
name — will tell you what titles to put on the backs, 
and be sure to have the original dates of the issue of 
works there also. I am very particular about that. 

“I know it, sir, and we will be very careful,” said 
the foreman. 

And when the man of wealth and influence turned 
to leave, Mr. W went down the stairs with him, 


20 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


and saw him into his* carriage, and stood bare- 
headed on the sidewalk until he had driven away. 

And this is Republican, Democratic America ! 

No kings, nor dukes, nor lords here — but to the 
sovereignty of wealth the reddest or blackest repub- 
lican, or the noisiest democrat, bends his servile 
knee and cowering head more abjectly than any 
serf in Russia bows before the imperial form. 

Independence ! Bah ! ’Tis but a name !' 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


21 


CHAPTER IV. 

TEA-TABLE TALK. 

There was a regular flutter in the boarding-house 
of Miss Scrimp when the bindery girls got in that 
Friday evening; for they brought the news that 
Hattie Butler had been promoted in the bindery, a 
new position given her, and her wages raised to ten 
dollars a week. Some of the girls were really glad, 
for Hattie had ever been so gentle, so quiet, so kind 
when any of them were sick, that she had few ene- 
mies. But others were envious of her good fortune, 
as they ever had been of her beauty, so there were 
a few to sneer and hint that Mr. Jones, the foreman, 
or Mr. W , one of the proprietors, had only pro- 

moted her because she was handsome, and they 
wanted her off by herself where they could talk to 
her and say things the other girls couldn’t hear. 

The object of the flutter, the laudation, and the 
envy, seemed all this time to care the least for her 
promotion of any that knew it. She did not speak 
of it, even to Miss Scrimp, at whose right hand her 
chair at table was always placed ; but the latter had 
heard of it before Hattie got home, and was ready 
with her congratulations the instant Hattie sat 
down. 

“I’m awful glad to hear you’ve been set up in the 
bindery, and get so much better wages, dear,” she 
said. 

And she screwed her sallow cheeks and thin lips 
into a picture of a smile which Fast would glory to 
copy, if he could only have seen it. 

“Thank you, Miss Scrimp; but I do not know as it 


22 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


will be much better for me. My former work was 
very easy. It only exercised my fingers. This will 
tax both fingers and brain. My head aches over it 
already.” 

“Dear, dear! Well, I’ll have Biddy Lanigan make 
you a real strong cup of tea and some toast.” 

“No, thank you, Miss Scrimp, I do not wish it. The 
food which is good enough for the rest always satis- 
fies me.” 

“I know it, dear. You never find fault, and that 
makes me so much the more ready to better your 
fare when I can. And that reminds me — Miss Dol- 
hear has got sick and gone home to the country ; she 
that came here, poor thing, to learn dress-making ; 
and her room, on the second fioor, front, is empty 
now, and you shall have it for only one dollar more 
than you pay now, though I charged her two. Her 
folks were well off : they used to write and send her 
money, and I guess she got sick a-eatin’ too much 
cake and candy. Her room is all stuck up with it. 
But I’ll have Little Jess clean it out for you, if you’ll 
take it.” 

“Thank you. Miss Scrimp, I do not wish to change. 
I feel very much at home in my little chamber, and 
the higher one gets in the city the puier is the air 
they breathe.” 

“Dear, dear! I thought you’d like to change. But 
you know what you like best. Do let me call Biddy 
and have some toast made for you.” 

“No, thank you. Miss Scrimp. There is plenty be- 
fore me, I am sure.” 

“Dear! dear! That’s just your own nice way al- 
ways. I never heard a complaint from your lips, 
and there’s some that are never satisfied.” 

And here Miss Scrimp sent a scornful, cross eyed 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


23 


glance down the table. But no one could tell ex- 
actly at whom she was looking, so the look didn’t 
hurt anybody. 

As Hattie made no further remark, the usual clat- 
ter of knives and forks on slenderly-filled plates was 
alone heard for a time. 

But when Hattie, as usual, arose earliest of all, and 
went to her room, quite an unusual rush of conver- 
sation, and all about her, commenced. 

“Such luck ! From four dollars a week to ten, and 
all because she can talk Dutch!” said one— a very 
plain and a very ignorant girl. 

“Ten dollars? How she’ll shine out in silk on Sun- 
days, ITl bet, and look for a beau as fast as the best 
of us,” said another. “She couldn’t do it in ten- 
cent calico. Oh, no, the proud thing!” 

“She is not a girl of that kind,” cried another, 
warmly. “She is the prettiest girl in this house to- 
night, and you all know it.” 

“Yes, stick up for her, Sally Perkins. We know 
why. When you had the measles so bad she lost 
three days work sitting up with you and waiting on 
you.” 

- “Thank Heaven she did,” cried Sally, earnestly. 
“I might have died before one of you would have 
done as much for me. She is a living angel if ever 
there was one. So there now. I’ll never speak to a 
girl that breathes a word against l^er so long as I 
live.” 

“Good for Sally Perkins,” cried a dozen in a 
breath, for more than one in that crowd of girls had 
received kindness from Hattie Butler when kind- 
ness was so much needed. 

And the battle of tongues grew less and less, and 
soon tea was over, and the girls scattered as usual. 


24 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


Some to their rooms, weary enough to go right to 
rest — others to linger a little while in the old parlor 
and get others to fix up their scanty wardrobe so as 
to be ready for their only day of rest or pleasure — 
the blessed Sunday so near at hand — but one day of 
toil to intervene. 

Our heroine — where was she? In her little cham- 
ber thanking her Heavenly Father that at last the 
stern strife for daily bread was made easier to her, 
and that a glimmer of light could be seen through 
the dark clouds of poverty. 

Pure-hearted and innocent, she did not dream that 
any one could so envy her g:ood fortune as to hate 
her for it. If she had she would have prayed God to 
forgive them. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


25 


CHAPTER V. 

DOES HE LOVE HER? 

Mr. W , one of the proprietors of the bindery 

where our heroine worked— a junior partner, but the 
chief manager of the concern, was a single man, not 
yet forty, in the very prime of life. He was, as a 
man, not as a fop, very good-looking. His stalwart 
frame, well-developed, showed his American birth ; 
but his full, round, rosy face spoke also of his Eng- 
lish paternity. He had thus far in life been too busy 
to think of matrimony, and, living with his parents, 
who were in easy circumstances, he had never 
known the want of a home, or the need of a wife to 
make home bright. His sisters, of whom he had 
two, considerably younger than himself, had ever 
seen to his linen — his tailor looked to his wardrobe 
— he had little to trouble himself about. He be- 
longed to a coterie or club of bachelors, and was 
never at a loss about a place to spend his even- 
ings in. 

But that day, when the wealthy and influential 
Mr. Legare had told Hattie Butler that she deserved 

to be in a higher sphere, had opened Mr. W ’s 

eyes — opened them to the wonderful beauty as well 
as the surprising talent of the girl who had worked 
at low wages without a murmur for over two years 
in his shop. 

He had noticed her quiet modesty in contrast with 
the boldness of other girls often before, but that 
very shrinking modesty had also kept her beauty in 
the background. 

And that very afternoon he had taken occasion in 


26 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


person to look at her work, as her slim, tapering 
fingers gathered up missing pages and placed them 
where they belonged ; and he asked her many ques- 
tions, in a kinder tone than he was accustomed to 
use to his employees ; for there was to him a very 
sweet music in the voice that answered his queries. 

And when he went home that evening he was 
strangely absent-minded. When his Sister Flotie 
asked him if he would not get opera tickets and 
take her and Anna to hear '‘Lucia’’ on the Monday 
night following, he said : 

“Yes, Miss Hattie — yes; with pleasure.” 

“Hattie? Who is Hattie, brother, that you should 
use that name instead of Flotie, when you answer 
me?” 

“Did I? I didn’t mean to; but I am full of Hattie 
some way. I went to write a letter to our paper 
manufacturer, and had got a dozen lines written, 
when I saw I had headed it, ‘Dear Hattie.’ There is 
a girl in the bindery of that name— a most remark- 
able girl. I will tell you all I know about her. She 
looks and acts like a princess in disguise.” 

And then Mr. W gave a very highly colored 

description of our heroine and her acquirements. 

“And you have let this prodigy of beauty and 
learning, of modesty and goodness, work for you for 
two years at little better than starvation wages? 
Coward! I’m ashamed of you, if you are my 
brother,” cried Flotie, warmly. 

“Sis, don’t break out that way. We pay the usual 
rates. ^ Were we to pay higher, we. could not com- 
pete with other binderies and keep up.” 

“But four dollars a week to pay board and wash- 
ing, and dress with! Why, it wouldn’t keep me in 
gloves.” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


27 


‘‘Yet thousands of poor girls work for and live on 
less, my peerless sister. You, who know no want 
that is not supplied almost as soon as expressed, 
know little how poor girls and women have to strug- 
gle to keep their heads above the tide. But my 
heroine is better ofP now. I have given her other 
work, and raised her salary to ten dollars a week.’’ 

“Good! good! You have some heart after all, 
Ned.” 

“I begin to think I have,” said Mr. W , with a 

sigh. 

“Here! here! No nonsense, brother mine. Don’t 
make a fool of yourself by falling in love with your 
pretty employee. She may be very pretty,, very 
modest, and good, but I don’t want a bindery girl 
for a sister-in-law. Eemember that.” 

Mr. W — ’s answer was another sigh. He seemed 
lost in thought, and, as he had promised the opera 
tickets, Flotie left him to his thoughts, and went to 
tell Anna about her brother’s new discovery, as well 
as to announce that they were to hear “Lucia” on 
the coming Monday night. 

“Do you think Brother^ Edward is really in love 
with this shop-girl?” asked Anna, in a serious tone, 
when Flotie had told her story. 

“I think he is a little smitten, but seriously in love 
— no. Not a bit of it. Edward is too^much engrossed 
in business to fall in love in good earnest. He 
hasn’t leisure for that. Besides, he has too much 
sense to ever think of marrying for beauty, and out 
of his own sphere, too. There are rich girls who 
would snap at him for the asking.” 

“Flotie, love — real love — laughs at riches.” 

“May be so, Anna; but love — real love, as you 
call it — never — scorns a diamond engagement-ring, 


28 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB, 


nor refuses to wear satin and Valenciennes lace for 
a wedding suit. Where would the bindery girl on 
four, or even ten dollars a week, find them?’^ 

‘‘Ned would find them for her fast enough, if he 
loved her. But say, Flotie, what will we wear on 
Monday night? That is the question for the hour. 
You know the creme de la creme of society will be 
there, and we must uphold the family credit.’’ 

“Yes, even if papa heaves a heavy sigh over our 
demands. Let me think. We’ll go up stairs and 
look over our wardrobe, see what we have, and then 
we’ll know what we must have. Come, pet.” 

And away went the two loving sisters — girls yet, 
though both were past their teens. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


29 


CHAPTER VI. 

JOY TO TOIL-WORN HEARTS. 

Mr. Legare, after leaving the bindery, drove, or 
was taken in his carriage, to a prominent bank, in 
which he was heavily interested, both as a stock- 
holder and depositor, transacted some business there, 
then took a turn down Wall street to look into some 
stocks there, and returned home just in time for 
lunch. 

He was met at the table by his two children — 
Frank, a son of five-and-twenty years, and Lizzie, a 
daughter just five years younger. His wife, their 
mother, had passed away two years before, leaving 
sweet memories only to cheer their saddened hearts, 
for as wife and mother she had been a treasure on 
earth. 

‘‘Well, children, how have you spent your morn- 
ing?” asked the fond and ever indulgent father. 

“I have been over in Forty-Fifth street, father, 

calling on your old friend, Mr. said Frank. 

“I love to visit the dear old fellow, and to hear him 
talk of his travels in Europe. He is droll, yet there 
is a vein of true philosophy in all he says. And his 
sketches of scenes he visited are so full of life and 
interest. An invalid, yet so cheerful— it would cure 
a misanthrope to visit him once in a while.” 

“He is a good man, Frank, and I am glad you like 
tov visit him. He has seen much of the world, and 
you can learn a great deal in conversing with him. 
And now, daughter, dear, how have you spent your 
afternoon?” 

“I started out to go a-shopping, papa. You know 


30 


BE A TJTIFUL BUT PO OB, 


you handed me a roll of money last night for that 
purpose. I went on foot, for I like exercise on a 
sunny morning like this. Only a little way from 
here, in front of the drug store on the next avenue, I 
saw a young girl, a mere child of ten or eleven years, 
crying bitterly. I asked her what was the matter, 
and learned, through her many sobs, that she had 
come with only seven cents, the last money she or 
her mother had in the world, to get medicine for 
that mother, who was sick. The medicine named 
in the prescription cost twenty cents, and the drug- 
gist would not let her have it without the money. I 
took the poor thing by the hand and went in and 
got the medicine for her, and in the meantime found 
out where she lived, in an alley only four blocks, 
dear father, from this rich home, in the basement 
of one of the old tumble-down houses, which are a 
disgrace to the city. I don’t know but I did wrong, 
papa, but I couldn’t help it. I went home with that 
little girl and saw her poor mother, sick, with four 
children, actually starving, in an unfurnished cel- 
lar — no food, no fire — nothing but want and 
wretchedness to meet my view. Father, there is a 
fire there now, and plenty to eat. The sick woman 
is on a good bed, our doctor has taken her case in 
hand, and the children, in decent clothes, will go to 
school next week. But I have not been shopping. 
I found better use for my money.” 

“God bless my girl— my noble girl,” said Mr. Le- 
gare, and tears came in his eves as he spoke. 
“Frank, my boy, Lizzie has outstripped us both in 
good works, though we both may have done some 
good; you in visiting and cheering up my invalid 
friend, and I— well, I, too, have had an adventure, 
and perhaps have been the indirect cause of better. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


31 


ing the condition of a poor, hard-working girl — the 
loveliest creature, by the way, that I ever saw, at 
home or abroad. And talented, too, the mistress of 
five languages; and, Lizzie, not so old, I should 
judge, as you, by a year or two.’’ 

“Where did you meet this prodigy of beauty and 
learning, father?” asked the son. 

“At W ’s book -bindery, where I took some 

valuable old reviews for binding. She has worked 
there over two years, sarning and supporting her- 
self on four dollars a week. And until some one was 
needed to collate and arrange my old German and 
French reviews, her knowledge of languages had re- 
mained undiscovered. She bears an excellent charac- 
ter — is modest, pure, and unassuming. I was glad 

to hear Mr. W order his foreman to assign her 

to new and more pleasant duties, at ten dollars a 
week.” 

“So, dear papa, you, too, brought joy to a toil-worn 
heart.” 

“I hope so, child, I hope so. She told me she 
owed her education to a gifted mother. I saw her 
lips tremble and her eyes moisten when sl^e spoke, 
and, thinking of our own loss, my children, I for- 
bore to question her then. But I shall, by and by, for 
I feel strangely interested in her. So very, very 
beautiful ; so talented, and yet in such humble cir- 
cumstances. In looks, in manners, in conversation 
a lady who would grace any society, yet, after all, 
only a poor book-bindery girl.” 

Lunch, which had been going on all this time, 
was over, and Mr. Legare, mentioning that he had 
some letters to write, went to his library, while the 
brother and sister went off, arm in arm, to a favor- 
ite alcove in the adjoining drawing-room. 


32 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


“Frank, what do you think of this new discovery 
which our dear father has been telling us of? I 
never knew him to speak with such enthusiastic ad- 
miration of any one before.” 

“Neither did I, Lizzie,” said Frank, gravely. 
“Seriously, sister, I must go and see this peerless 
girl — see her, too, before father goes there again, if 
I can. I do not want a step-mother younger than 
you are, dear.” 

“Oh, Frank! Papa would never think of that!” 

“I don’t know, Lizzie. He is young for his years. 
He has led a careful, temperate life, and is not be- 
yond his prime either mentally or physically. 
Stranger things have happened. I repeat, I must go 

and see this girl for myself. W is a warm 

friend of mine, and will help me if there’s any 
danger.” 

“I don’t know but you are right, Frank. Go, if 
you think best.” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


83 


CHAPTER VII. 

WHO CAN SHE BE ? 

Mr. W was rather surprised to receive quite 

an early call at his bindery from the son of his 
wealthy patron — the younger Legare. He had met 
Frank at his club, and on ‘‘the road,’’ for both drove 
fast horses ; but the young man had never before 
visited the bindery, though his father often did. 

Mr. W , however, received his visitor with 

great cordiality, and asked what he could do for him. 

“I would like to see you in your private office 
a moment,” said young Legare, who had, when he 
entered the large room, cast a keen and searching 
glance at all the hands — men, boys, and girls — 
whom his eye could reach. 

“Certainly. Step this way,” said Mr. W , 

leading the way to a room partitioned off at the 
upper end of the main bindery. “Take a seat, Mr. 
Legare,” he said, pointing to a luxurious arm-chair, 
cushioned and backed with morocco. . 

“Thank you. I will detain you but a moment,” 
said Frank. “My father was here yesterday.^” 

“Yes; he left some work, which will be finished 
by to-morrow. He is one of my best patrons,” re- 
plied W . 

“He discovered a prodigy here yesterday,” said 
young Legare. 

“A prodigy?” 

“Yes, sir; at least he seems to think so, for he 
talked like a crazy man about her— a girl beautiful 
as aa houri, and as learned as she is beautiful, the 
mistress, he said, of no less than five languages.” 


3i BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH. 

‘‘Ah, yes! You allude to Hattie Butler. She is 
rather pretty, and certainly quite gifted as a lin- 
guist.’’ 

“What will you take to send her away where he 
will never see her again?” 

“Mr. Legare! I hardly understand you.” 

“I think I spoke quite plainly. I asked you what 
you would take to send her away where he would 
never see her again. Do you understand that?” 

“I think I do,” said Mr. W , flushing up. “But 

you must understand I never discharge a good and 
willing hand without a fault, when there is work to 
do for that hand. This young woman has worked 
for us over two years without committing an error.” 

“Is it no error to snare an old man like my father, 
because he happens to be rich, with a display of her 
beauty and learning?” 

“Snare! Mr. Legare, have you been drinking, or 
what is the matter with you?” 

“I have not been drinking, Mr. W , and I am 

in very sober earnest in what I say. My father, 
though old, IS very impressible, and perhaps you 
know it. He came home to lunch yesterday, and 
could talk of nothing but the beauty and talent of 
this girl.” 

“Why, he was not in here over ten or fifteen min- 
utes altogether, and his conversation with her may 
have occupied three or four minutes of that time.” 

“Well, it was long enough to do us— my sister and 
myself — perhaps an irreparable injury. In short, 
from the old gentleman’s enthusiasm, we feared he 
would court and marry this girl before we could 
take a step to prevent it, and we made up our minds 
to prevent such a folly if we could.” 

“I doubt very much, Mr. Legare, whether such a 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OR, 


35 


folly, as you rightly term it, has originated in any 
brain but your own. I was present at the only inter- 
view your father has ever had with this young 
woman, and only the books, and how to bind them, 
was the subject of conversation. It was brief and 
business-like, nothing more.’’ 

“Can I see the young woman?” 

“We are not in the habit of exhibiting our em- 
ployees, Mr. Legare,” said W , with considerable 

hauteur. “But if you choose to walk about the bind- 
ery with me, you can see every person in it, while 
examining my work, machinery, and so forth ; but 
I will not permit any remarks made that can hurt 
the feelings of an employee.” 

“I would be the last to do it, sir; and you need 
not point out this prodigy— if she is so very beauti- 
ful, and so superior in her grace and manners, I am 
sure I shall be able to discover her without aid.” 

“Very well, Mr. Legare. We will pass through the 
various departments, as visitors frequently do.” 

The young man assented, and with Mr. W 

moved through the large hall, looking at folders, 
sewers, gilders, and pasters, all busy at their various 
tasks, and examined with rather a careless eye all 
the newly-patented machinery for cutting and press- 
ing, though Mr. W strove to point out the great 

improvements of the age as well as he could. 

They had passed through a greater part of the 
bindery, and young Legare had looked with a sur- 
prised eye on many a pretty form and interesting 
face, for he, like too many of the upper or non- 
laboring class, had imbued the idea that beauty and 
labor, grace and toil, intellect and worth, could not 
~ go hand in hand, or indeed have any connection. 

They now came to where a young girl, with her 


36 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


braided hair, dark as night, wound around a finely 
poised head, sat with her face toward a window — a 
screen on either side partially shutting her in from 
general observation. She was bent over some scat- 
tered pages, evidently arranging them, and young 
Legare, glancing at the pages, saw that they were 
old, in a foreign language, and had belonged to a 
pile of torn and faded magazines that lay on the 
table to her left. 

One glance at that form, at the shapely head, and 
graceful neck and shoulders, and a start of surprise, 
a flush in his face, told that Legare had found the 
wonderful girl of whom his father had spoken. 

Hearing steps close to her table, the beautiful girl 

turned to see who was there, and, seeing Mr. W 

with a stranger by his side, turned again to her 
work. But that one glance revealed to young Le * 
gare such a face as he had never seen before— a face 
wonderfully beautiful and full of expression. 

The two passed on until beyond her hearing, and 
Legare said, in a low tone : 

‘T thank you, Mr. W , and need look no far- 

ther. I do not wonder that such beauty, combined 
with education and talent, struck my father with 
surprise. Who can she be? She was not born to 
labor; her hands are small, her fingers tapering and 
delicate — every feature that of a lady. I had but a 
single glance, but if I was only an artist I could 
paint her portrait from memory.’’ 

Mr. W — — smiled. 

“You also are enthusiastic as well as your father. 
But I assure you that neither you nor he need feel 
any fear, or dream of any snares being laid for 
eithey of you. It is true, the young girl is beautiful 
—but she is poor, and dependent on the labor of her 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


37 


hands for her living. She has evidently no ambi- 
tions beyond it, for here at her bench for over two 
years she has been a silent, quiet, unobtrusive 
worker, making no complaints, asking no favors, 
shunning all acquaintances — noted only for her 
modesty and retiring, quiet way.’’ 

“She is a wonder,” said Mr. Legare, with a sigh. 
“I thank you for your kindness, Mr. W .” 

Then he left the bindery without another word. 


38 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

WHAT CAN THIS MEAN! 

Mr. W echoed the sigh which left his visitor’s 

lips when the latter departed. And the wealthy 
binder looked toward the screens which hid fair 
Hattie Butler from general view — looked longingly 
in that direction, as if there was a wish in his heart 
he hardly dared to utter— perhaps a wish that she 
was not his employee, but a member of the circle 
in which his own pretty and fashionable sisters 
moved. 

He looked around to note that every one was busy, 
even his foreman attending in person to a difficult 
job of gilding on Turkey morocco. 

Then he moved very quietly toward the little 
screened-off space where our heroine was at work, 
and approached her so silently that not until he 
spoke was she aware of his close vicinity. 

“Is this work difficult, Miss Hattie?” he asked, in 
a low, kind tone. 

A start, a blush, which made her generally pale 
face almost glorious in color, showed her surprise, 
but her dark eyes were calm and steady as she 
looked up at him, and replied : 

“Kot difficult, but a little perplexing, Mr. W , 

in consequence of the scattered condition of the 
pages. Those old magazines, all torn apart, were 
mixed up without regard to number or date, and 
you must excuse me if I seem to work slow. I have 
to read sometimes half a page before I can decide 
where it belongs.” 


BEA UTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


39 


“Take your own time*, Miss Hattie, and make no 
more haste than justice to your work demands. 
You have never found me a very hard task-master, 
I hope.” 

“On the contrary, sir. I believe all in the bindery 
look upon you as a kind employer.” 

“Thank you. Miss Hattie. I trust they will long 
continue to consider me so. By the way, are you 
sufficiently isolated here to pursue your difficult du- 
ties — or would you prefer a corner in the office?” 

“I would prefer to remain here, Mr. W . Any 

extra kindness to me will only cause others to feel 
envious, and I do not wish to make enemies.” 

“Enemies! Just as if it were possible for you to 
make enemies. Have no fear on that score. Miss 
Hattie. But when I can in any way render your 
position more comfortable, Miss Hattie, please in- 
form me.” 

“Thank you, sir,” she said, bending again to her 
work. 

He cast one long, lingering look at that graceful 
form bowed forward over those old musty pages, 
and turned away with a half-smothered sigh. 

“It is a wonder that I never noticed before how 
exquisitely beautiful she is,” he murmured to him- 
self, as he passed on and into his office. “Her voice 
is music mellowed down. Her language so chaste 
and well chosen. Ah, me ! I do not wonder young 
Legare feared his father might fall in love with 
such a prodigy. I fear I shall myself. And if I did, 
what would my sisters say?” 

Yes, that is a man's question all over. They see a 
lovely face and form— all the heart they have is 
moved by it. But they ask not “is she good? Is her 
disposition sweet? Is she pure and stainless?” Only 


40 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


this — ‘^is she rich in worldly lucre? Is she one who 
can move a star in the fashionable world? Will she 
be an ornament in my circle of society?’’ 

What ganders men are. There, I’ve said it, and 
I mean it. 

Hattie paused over her work when the footsteps of 
her employer died away on her ear. He had not be- 
fore spoken to her a dozen times in the two years or 
more of her employment there. His orders and di- 
rections always came through the foreman hitherto ; 
and when he snoke to a hand he was not in the habit 
of using a prefix to the name of that hand. To her 
he had said Miss Hattie. The foreman always called 
her Hattie — nothing more — and she was used to it. 
Some girls would have been pleased at this mark of 
preference. Hot so our heroine: She knew enough 
of the cold heartlessness of the world to look with 
distrust upon any advances made by those who 
were above her in position or fortune. 

A sigh broke from her lips, and she almost wished 
she was back at her sewing-bench at four dollars a 
week, with no one aware of her talents as a lin- 
guist ; though her advanced wages would add 
much to her comfort and enable her to add to her 
small savings. 

She bent again to her labor, and sought in it and 
its perplexities, refuge from all other thoughts, and 
she had indeed enough to think of in setting those 
mixed up pages right. Ho one else in the bindery 
could have done it. It was a job which the foreman 
had laid aside as hopeless, until the late discovery 
of her talent. 

And now he came to her to see how she was get- 
ting forward. In reply to his question she said : 

“One volume is there, sir, with every page in its 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


41 


place, and ready for the sewing-bench. It is slow 
work, for the pages are badly mixed and torn up. 
But I am doing it as fast as I can.’’ 

“Fast enough, in all reason, Hattie,” said Mr. 
Jones. “You are on wages — or salary, rather, now, 
and not on piece work. So you need not drive your- 
self.” 

“Salary will make no difference in my industry, 
Mr. Jones. I shall ever strive my best to devote 
every moment of working time to the benefit of my 
employers.” 

“It’s a good principle, Hattie, and I know you live 
up to it, which is more than can be said of a great 
many in the shop. I’ll put this volume in the sewer’s 
hands. Do the rest in your own time. It is a job I 
never expected to carry through. It has been laying 
here over a year untouched. When you get it done, 
I have three or four more almost as bad.” 

Hattie bowed her head, but made no reply. The 
foreman had never been quite so talkative or com- 
placent before. He was generally stern, sharp, and 
imperative with all under him. 

When he went away she murmured to herself : 

“What can all this mean? Mr. Jones has softened 
in his tone. It used to be ‘hurry up, Hattie, hurry 
up; we can’t have no lazing ’round in this shop!’ 
Now, when my wages are nearly treble, and it 
should be expected I should exert myself all the 
more, I am told to take my time. Ah, me I I hope 
no clouds will come to cover this sudden gleam of 
sunshine.” 


42 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FOOB. 


CHAPTER IX. 

‘‘lizzie, I’ve seen her!” 

And young Legare heaved a great sigh when he 
confronted his sister with this declaration on his 
lips. 

“Who — Frank — who?” asked Miss Legare, look- 
ing up from a book of fashion plates which were 
engrossing her attention as he entered her special 
sitting-room, or boudoir, as she termed it. 

For she had been educated at Vassar, and could 
not descend to ordinary terms. 

“Who? Just as if you did. not remember my er- 
rand down town. I have been to W ’s bindery.” 

“Oh! that bindery girl!” 

“Yes — the bindery girl!” 

“Well! Why don’t you report? What do you 
want to keep me in suspense for?” cried the spoiled 
pet of fortune. 

“She is very beautiful. The prettiest girl, in face 
and form, that I have ever seen in all my life.” 

And Frank gulped down a sigh. 

“A bindery girl, smelling of sour paste and leather 
— beautiful! Oh, Frank, I thought you had some 
taste, some knowledge of refinement. ” 

“I hope I have, sister mine. If you had hands as 
small and white, and fingers that tapered down to 
the rosy nails as do hers, you would throw off your 
half-dozen diamond rings and let your hand speak 
for itself. And such a form — not made up, but fresh 
from nature’s choicest mold.” 

“You, Frank! You traitor!” 

“What do you mean, Lizzie?” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOL, 


43 


‘^You went down there to see that your father was 
not snared by that siren — to have her discharged, 
sent away. Have you done it?” 

“Ho, Lizzie, there is no cause for her discharge, 

and Mr. W laughed at the idea. Father did not 

exchange twenty words with her, and they were 
purely on business, and in Mr. W ’s presence.” 

“How many words have you exchanged with this 
ne phis tiUr a of loYoliness?^^ 

“Hot one. I got hut one look in her face, one 
glance from her bewildering eye, yet the memory of 
both will dwell in my heart while I live.” 

“In short, Frank, you went there to save papa 
from a snare, and are yourself a victim. I see 
through it all. I have got to take this matter in 
hand. You men with susceptible hearts are just good 
for nothing.” 

“You had better not meddle in the matter, sister 
dear. I do not think our father is in danger, at pres- 
ent, at any rate.” 

“Well, if papa isn’t. Brother Frank is. So I’m 
going to get that dangerously beautiful -girl out of 
the way. I’ll do it if I have to make love to Mr. 
W himself, to get him to discharge her.” 

“I don’t think he’d look at you, after seeing her.” 

“Frank, this is a downright insult. Comparing a 
Legare to a poor bindery girl.” 

“Sister, I did not mean it as such. But in sober 

earnest I do believe that Mr. W is in love with 

this paragon himself.” 

“Poh ! Because you are a fool, do not think every 
one is like you.” 

“You are strangely complimentary, Miss Le- 
gare.” 

“Hot more so than the object of my compliments 


44 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


deserves, Mr. Legare,” said the sister, snappishly. 

“Good-morning. I will go to my club. There, at 
least, I will be treated as a gentleman T’ cried the 
brother, rising. 

“Frank; you’re a brute!’’ 

And Lizzie burst out in a flood of tears. 

Frank turned back, though he had reached the 
door. 

“Darling, do not weep or quarrel with a brother 
who loves you better than he loves his life ! ” he 
whispered, as he bent tenderly over her. 

“Then don’t — don’t talk so to a sister who loves 
you with all her heart and soul!” sobbed Lizzie, 
looking forgiveness through her tears — sunlight 
breaking through the clouds — “dear brother!” 

And clinging to his ncek, she kissed him with al- 
most childish fervor and tenderness. 

The storm was over. Would that all such domestic 
storms could pass as fleetly, and as brightly. 

Frank did not go to his club. He sat down by the 
side of his sister, and long, earnestly and quietly 
they talked about this strangely beautiful, this 
mysterious girl,' and tried to plan out some way to 
find out, without her knowing it, who she was, 
where she came from, and all about her. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


46 


CHAPTER X. 

MISS SCRIMP’S CURIOSIIY. 

Little Jessie Albemarle always had the door-bell 
to answer, even ibshe was making beds in the top 
story of the house, when she heard it, for Miss 
Scrimp considered it beneath her dignity to go to 
the door when she was able to keep a cook and a 
house-servant. Moreover, she was seldom dressed 
for appearance at the door except when ready to go 
to market or the time arrived when she could watch 
her hungry boarders from the accustomed seat at 
the head of the long table in her dining-room. 

And Jessie heard a sharp, sudden ring thrice re- 
peated, only a week later than when she had an- 
swered the postman’s ring before for Hattie But- 
ler’s California letter, and she knew by the peculiar 
ring who was there. She bounded down stairs two 
or three steps at a jump, and passed Miss Scrimp on 
the landing at the head of the first stairs''where, she 
usually posted herself to listen when any one came 
to the door. 

The postman handed her a letter, and Jessie, at a 
glance, saw that it was for Miss Hattie Butler — was 
postmarked in California and sealed with red wax 
with that strange device— two hearts pierced with 
an arrow. 

Scarcely was the door shut when Miss Scrimp 
screamed out, in her usual shrill tone : 

“You, Jess! who is that letter for?” 

‘ “Miss Hattie Butler, ma’am,” said Jess, meekly. 
“Sha’n’t I keep it and give it to her when she 
comes?” 


46 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


‘‘No, l)ring it here this minute 

Jess went slowly up stairs, and reluctantly handed 
the letter over to her mistress. She had given her 
letters before, which she knew never reached those 
to whom they were directed. And the poor little ser- 
vant loved Hattie Butler, and could not bear that 
she should be wronged. 

Miss Scrimp looked at her letter. 

“It’s from Calif orny again,” she muttered. 
“There’s somethin’ strange in so many letters 
cornin’ to that gal from Calif orny.” Then she turned 
to Jessie, and fixing, if she could fix, those cross-eyes 
on her, she said, in a whisper, a harsh, fierce whis- 
per: “If you just breathe one whisper to a living 
soul about this letter a-comin’ here. I’ll pull the very 
ears off your frowsy head. I’m afeared some one is 
a-tryin’ to delude that sweet young cretur away, 
and I’m not a-goin’ to sit still and see it. No, it’s my > 
Christian duty to take care of her, and I’m goin’ to 
do it. I’ll see who it is a-writin’ to her, and what 
he says.” 

“Why, sure, ma’am, you wouldn’t keep Miss Hat- 
tie’s own letter from her?” asked Jessie, with un- 
usual boldness. 

“Yes, for her own good, I would. And now, mind 
you, don’t speak it to a living soul. If you do. I’ll 
whip you till you can’t squeal !” 

Miss Scrimp was one who never forgot such a 
promise, as poor J essie knew to her sorrow. So she 
went back up stairs to her work, and Miss Scrimp 
darted into her^ own room with that letter. 

She sat down near the dingy window, and looked 
at it, back and front, and examined it in every way 
to see if it was not possible to open it without break- 
ing the seal. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


47 


But this could not be done. The seal must be 
broken, or the end of the envelope cut. Miss Scrimp 
hesitated before acting on either of these ideas. She 
had heard of a penalty attached to the crime of 
opening another person’s letter. 

She didn’t care a pin for the crime, but she did 
care for the penalty. She was like the penitent 
thief. He was sorry to be caught stealing. 

must know what is in this letter !” she mut- 
tered. ‘T can’t understand that girl. And she will 
never tell me anything. There’s a mystery about 
her, and for the life of me I can’t get at the bottom 
of it. But I will — I will, if I die for it. Jess will 
never dare tell her about this letter. I’d skin her 
alive if she did. I’ll open it, and know who she has 
got in Calif orny, and what he wants.” 

With a desperate twitch she ran her dirty thumb- 
nail under the crease of the envelope, near the end 
of the letter, tore it open, and took out a half sheet 
of note-paper. 

It had neither date nor place of dating at its 
head. The letter was composed of but two lines. 
She read them over aloud : 

‘‘My darling, every pledge is kept. Wealth is 
gained. Let me come to you !” 

There was no signature— not a clew. The hand- 
writing was elegant, but even the sex of the writer 
could not be determined by that. 

If ever a woman was madly disappointed, that 
woman was Miss Scrimp. 

Literally she had run all her risk for nothing. And 
her curiosity now was excited a thousand fold. 
What pledges had been kept by the one who dare 
call Hattie Butler darling? Wealth had been 


48 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. ' 


gained, but whose was it? That the writer 
wanted to come to Hattie was certain. But who 
was that writer? Miss Scrimp would have given 
her false hair and teeth to know. Yes, or she 
would have fed her boarders on turkey for a week 
if she could have gotten old and tough ones at half 
price. 

If she had only known who to write to, or even to 
telegraph to, an answer would have gone back, 
signed: “Come along soon as you can— Hattie But- 
ler.*’ 

Buc Hattie would not have known it. Miss Scrimp, 
mean, as she was, would have spent five dollars 
for telegraphing in a moment if she could by that 
have got to the bottom of the mystery which so ter- 
ribly worried her. 

Little did she dream, while in this turmoil of dis- 
appointment, that a pair of gleeful eyes were fairly 
dancing over her too evident annoyance; for Jessie 
Albemarle, after going noisily up stairs, as if to her 
work, had crept down as slyly as a mouse, and peep- 
ing through the key-hole, had been a witness to the 
opening of the letter. 

And when she saw Miss Scrimp put the letter 
under a book on a shelf near her bed, the brave lit- 
tle friend of Hattie Butler determined that, even 
though the seal was broken, the letter should reach 
its proper owner. 

“She’ll go down to cut their slices of bread and 
meat for supper, and then I’ll get it,” said Jessie to 
herself. “She will never let me cut the bread or 
meat for fear I’ll cut too thick, or maybe eat a bite 
or two while I’m cutting ’em. But Miss Hattie, is so 
good to me that I will help her, and she shall have 
her letter whether I get whipped for it or not.” 






BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 49 

And the little heroine went back to her work as 
silently as she had left it, with her little plan fully 
arranged. 

And Miss Scrimp, having hidden the letter, was 
pondering in perplexity over its meaning. She had 
been often exercised over the secrets of her board- 
ers, but never so badly as now. 


60 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


CHAPTER XL 

DETECTED. 

Miss Scrimp was unusually cross that night at the 
supper table. There was less than the usual quan- 
tity of thin-sliced bread and butter on the table. The 
butter, ever scanty, was less by two plates, and the 
crackers altogether missing. When the boarders an- 
swered the cracked bell, and Hattie Butler took her 
usual seat close on her right. Miss Scrimp quite for- 
got to say, as she generally did, ‘‘good-evening, 
dear.’’ 

Miss Scrimp was all out of sorts, and she, evidently 
didn’t care who knew it— -or, perhaps, meant they 
all should know it. One of the girls. Wild Kate, the 
rest called her, she was ever so odd, willful, and 
daring, happened to ask why the table was like a 
worn-out whip-lash, and as no one could respond to 
the conundrum, she gave the solution herself. She 
said there was no cracker on it. 

“There’s no need of crackers when such snappish 
things are around as you are!” shrieked Miss 
Scrimp. 

“This butter was made from milk that came from 
a very old cow. I’ve found three gray hairs in a 
very small piece, just enough to match the wafer- 
like thickness of this stale bread,” said Kate, never 
at a loss for a venomous reply when attacked by 
Miss Scrimp. 

“Them that doesn’t like what I set before ’em can 
go farther and maybe fare worse,” snarled Miss 
Scrimp. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


61 


As half the girls were tittering over the points 
Kate had made, the latter was satisfied for the time, 
and Miss Scrimp’s last fling fell on heedless ears. 

In a little time the table was literally cleared, for 
girls who have toiled all day, with but a slender, 
cold lunch for dinner, cannot but be hungry at 
night. 

When the table was deserted poor Jessie looked 
in vain for a scrap for her supper. Miss Scrimp saw 
it, but she felt too cross and ugly to care, and so poor 
Jessie went without any supper, while Biddy Lani- 
gan and her mistress, as usual, had their strong tea 
and extra dishes. 

“Never mind, I’ve got Miss Hattie’s letter in my 
bosom, and I’ll tell all about the old cat, and how 
she opened it, and what she threatened to do to me 
if I told.” 

And this revenge in prospect satisfied poor Jessie 
better than a good supper would have done. 

She could hardly wait to help clear up the table 
and wash the dishes, so eager was she to get up to 
Hattie’s room. But the work was done at last, and 
Jessie, after her usuak round of abuse from Biddy 
Lanigan, was sent off to bed, with orders to be astir 
before daylight, and ready to go to market. 

Now was her chance to see Hattie, for she had to 
pass Hattie’s room on her way to the miserable 
closet in the attic loft, where she slept. 

A trembling rap on the door of Hattie’s bedroom 
elicited a response in the sweet, low voice of the 
bindery girl. 

“Come in! Why, Little Jessie, is it you? Come 
in, dear, I have a nice bit of cake for you that I 
bought as I was coming home.” 

“Dear Miss Hattie, I thank you ever so much, but 


52 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


I’m not hungry, though I haven’t had any supper. 
I’ve so much to tell you. Here is a letter the post- 
man brought to-day!” 

And Jessie took the torn and crumpled letter 
from its hiding-place in the bosom of her ragged 
dress. 

^‘Why, Jessie, it has been opened!” exclaimed 
Hattie, in surprise, and an angry flush overspread 
her face. 

“Yes, Miss Hattie, and I went in and got it where 
it had been hidden, or you would never have seen 
it!” said Jessie, “and if I am whipped to death for 
it. I’ll tell you all about it.” 

And bravely the poor little bound girl told the 
whole story, even as we already know it. 

“The cowardly, meddling, contemptible wretch!” 
was a very natural ejaculation, and it came from 
Hattie’s lips. 

But when she read the brief letter, and saw that 
neither place, date, address nor signature was in- 
side, a gleam of satisfaction took place of the shadow 
on her face. 

“Miss Scrimp has gained nothing by her audacious 
act,” she said. “But it is necessary that I should 
teach her a lesson. I will write a note to her, which 
you will take down to her. Leave it on her table, 
and instantly go to your own room. If I need you I 
will call you.” 

“And you will not let her whip me, will you, Miss 
Hattie?” 

“No, Jessie. If she but offers to raise a Anger to 
you, or speaks even an unkind word to you for what 
you have done for me, I will send her to prison for 
what she has done. Have no fear, my poor little 
dear. I will protect you, and see that hereafter you 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH. 


53 


are better treated than you have ever been before 
in this house. And soon you shall tell me all you 
know about yourself, as you promised me once you 
would, and perhaps if you have parents living I can 
help you to find them.’’ 

“Oh, Miss Hattie, if ever there was an angel on 
earth you’re that one,” said Jessie, trembling all 
over with joy. 

Hattie turned to her table, and wrote in a plain, 
but elegant hand, these words on a slip of paper : 

“Miss Hattie Butler desires to see Miss Scrimp in 
her room up stairs immediately on very important 
business.”, 

“How take the cake I got for you, and put it in 
your pocket to eat when you get to your own room, 
and then take this note and lay it on Miss Scrimp’s 
table, and come right away before she can call you 
back to question you,” said Hattie. 

“Please, Miss Hattie, I haven’t got any pockets in 
my dress. Miss Scrimp wouldn’t let me have any 
pockets in ’em for fear I’d put in crackers or some- 
thing when I’m hungry, and that is very often.” 

“Then run and put it under your pillow before 
you go down stairs,” said Hattie, smiling. 

“Please, there’s no pillow to my bed. But I’ll hide 
it among the rags there, and eat it so thankfully, 
for I am real hungry, since I told you what Miss 
Scrimp did and how I saw it.” 

And Jessie went and hid the cake, which was to 
be her only supper, and then quickly returned for 
the note. 

She ran down stairs light as a kitten, and finding 
Miss Scrimp’s door ajar looked in and saw that lady 
— pardon the name — busy over the book in which she 
kept her boarding accounts. 


5i 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


Jessie slipped in, dropped the paper over Miss 
Scrimp’s shoulder on the table, and was out of the 
room so quickly that Miss Scrimp did not know who 
brought the note. 

But she trembled and turned pale when she read 
it. 

“I wonder if that little brat of a bound girl has 
dared to tell her about the letter?’’ she ejaculated. 
“No,” she continued, “it can’t be that. Jess knows 
I’d skin her alive if she told, and she’d bite her 
tongue off first. I’ll bet Miss Hattie wants to take a 
room lower down, now that she is getting more than 
twice as much money a week as any other girl in 
the house gets. That’s it ; I’ll go right up. She is 
real good pay, always cash down the day it is due, 
and no grumbling. I’ll give her the best room in the 
house, and turn that saucy Kate Marmolit away, if 
she objects to giving it up. I wish I’d set Biddy 
Lanigan a-going at her to-night; she would have 
wished the gray hairs in her butter had got cross 
ways in her throat before she talked about ’em.” 

And Miss Scrimp closed up her old account book, 
took up her hand-lamp, and started up the steep, 
narrow, and dirty stairs toward Hattie Butler’s 
room. She had been so surprised that she had not 
even asked* herself who could have left the note, 
nor even thought how it came floating down on her 
table. 

Almost breathless, she reached the landing in 
front of Hattie’s room, and knocked at the door. 

“Come in,” said Hattie, in a clear, distinct tone. 

Hattie was sitting on her bed ; her only chair was 
between her and the door, near the table, and when 
Miss Scrimp took the seat Hattie pointed to, the 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


55 


lamp-light from both her lamp and Hattie’s on the 
table, fell strong on her angular, ugly face. 

“I got your note, and came up quick as I could, 
dear,” said Miss Scrimp, the moment she could 
gather breath enough to speak. 

For the long, steep stairs tired her very severely. 

“I suppose you’ve made up your mind to change 
your room and have something better, *now you’re 
making ever so much money — eh, dear?” continued 
Miss Scrimp. 

‘‘No, my business with you is of more importance 
than a change of rooms. It may cause a change of 
residence for you. Miss Scrimp.” 

“For me?” cried the ancient maiden, turning 
whiter than the pillow-case on which Hattie rested 
her hand. “I can’t understand you, dear.” 

“I will try to make my meaning quite plain before 
this interview is over. Miss Scrimp. Did the post- 
man leave a letter here for me to-day?” 

“The postman!” fairly gasped Miss Scrimp, her 
eyes a pale green, her face ghastly in its hue. “I 
haven’t seen the postman to-day !” 

“No matter whether you saw him or not. I ask a 
plain question in plain words. Did the postman 
leave a letter here for me to-day?” 

Miss Scrimp determined to brazen the matter 
right out. 

“If he did he didn’t leave it with me. And if that’s 
all you’ve made me climb them dreadful stairs for I 
don’t thank you. So now!” 

“Be a little cautious and a trifle more respectful. 
Miss Scrimp!” said Hattie sternly. 

“Respectful? Suppose I ought to be to the cheap- 
est boarder I’ve got in the house. I’m not going to 
stay here to be insulted by a bindery girl.” 


56 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


And the ailgry spinster arose, and with her lamp 
in her hand started for the door. 

‘‘Stop! Come back and sit down, or I will go for a 
police officer and have you arrested for an offense 
which will land you in the State prison cried Hat- 
tie. 

“Police officer — arrest me?” gasped Miss Scrimp. 

But she c^me back, put her lamp on the table, and 
sat down. 

“Now tell me what you want. Don’t try to scare 
a poor, nervous old creetur like me — please don’t. 
Miss Hattie.” 

“I want the letter I know was brought to this 
house by the regular letter-carrier to-day I” 

“Dear me. Miss Hattie, I’ve told you again and 
again I haven’t seen any letter-carrier. to-day,” 

“Nor any letter for me. Miss Scrimp?” 

“I vow to goodness, no!” 

“Will you swear on the Bible you have not had a 
letter for me in your possession to-day. Miss 
Scrimp?” 

And Hattie reached beneath her pillow for the 
Sacred Book, which she ever read for a few minutes 
each night before she closed her eyes in sleep. 

“You’ve no right to make me swear. I’ve told 
you I haven’t seen no letter of yours. Miss Hattie, 
and that ought to satisfy you.” 

“But it does not, Miss Scrimp. Your hesitation, if 
I had no other proof, would condemn you. Now I 
know you had a letter of mine in your hands to-day, 
and I want it.” 

“I hain’t got any letter of yours to give you.” 

“Then you will force me to get an officer and 
have you arrested. I would have saved you the dis- 
grace if I could, but since you are obstinate, I will 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


57 


let the law take its course. You can go to your room. 
I will go for an officer.’’ 

“Dear me, maybe some one has laid a letter for 
you down in my room. If they have, I’ll go and 
bring it to you,” said Miss Scrimp, now thoroughly 
frightened by the determined air and spirit of our 
heroine. 

“Go, then, and look for it,” said Hattie. “But 
remember. Miss Scrimp, if you are not here with the 
letter in just ten minutes, I will wait no longer. I 
will not have my letters tampered with when the 
law protects me in my rights.” 

“I’ll find— I’m sure I’ll find it,” gasped the tremb- 
ling spinster, and she tottered to the door and went 
down stairs, shaking from head to foot, leaving the 
door open in her haste. 

“May I come in just one second?” asked Little Jes- 
sie, who now showed herself at the door, with her 
cake, half gone, in her hand. 

“No, dear, not till I am through with her,” said 
Hattie. “I don’t want her to see you, or ever know 
how I found my letter, if I can help it.” 

“Oh, wasn’t it fun to see her turn white and green 
and shake all over?” said Jessie. “This cake is just 
awful good. Miss Hattie, but I’d go hungry to bed 
every night of my life just to see that old heathen 
get such a scare.” 

“There, there, run to your room, like a good, dear 
Little Jess,” cried Hattie. “I hear the old thing 
shuffling up stairs again. I’ll see what new device 
she offers to stave off her fate, and then, as the sol- 
diers say. I’ll unmask my battery.” 

Little Jessie vanished, and only just in time, for, 
wheezing and puffing like a sick cat, Miss Scrimp 


58 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FOOB, 


came up the stairs, and with a face of an ashen hue, 
entered the room. 


CHAPTER XII. 

WILL SHE KEEP HER PROMISES. 

‘T couldn’t find the letter nowhere, Miss Hattie. 
I must have been mistaken,” whined Miss Scrimp. 
‘‘And I’ve dragged my poor old bones all the way 
up these dreadful stairs again to tell you so.” 

“Did you look on the shelf above your bed, where 
you laid it after opening and reading it?” asked 
Hattie, very quietly, but with her dark eyes fixed 
on the ashen face of the old vixen. 

“What?” almost screamed Miss Scrimp. “Do you 
accuse me of opening one of your letters?” 

“Yes — I do. There were two witnesses to the 

act.” 

“It’s a lie! There wasn’t a single one beside me 
in the room,” yelled Miss Scrimp, wild and desper- 
ate. “Xo one could have seen me do it.” 

“Three witnesses, since you have turned State’s 
evidence, and confessed it!” said Hattie, so pro- 
vokingly quiet. 

“I didn’t confess. I only said no one saw me do it.” 

“Oh, yes, there did — and I will be able to prove it 
before the magistrate when I have you arrested. If 
you had confessed your fault at once I might have 
excused your criminal curiosity, and forgiven you in 
the hope that hereafter you would be a wiser and a 
better woman. But since you deny your guilt I 
may as well prove it and have you punished. In- 
side the walls of a prison you may have time to re- 
fiect on the manner in which you have treated poor 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OR. 


59 


girls who were in your power. You will get better 
board there than your boarders get here.’’ 

'‘In prison?” gasped Miss Scrimp. 

“Yes, in prison, where you will be sent for break- 
ing the seal of my letter.” 

“I didn’t break the seal— I only tore it open at 
the end!” whined the wretched culprit. 

“With your thumb-nail. No matter where or how 
you opened my private letter after taking it from 
the hands of your servant, who received it from the 
postman.” 

“Oh, there’s where you found it out? Little Jess 
has told on me. Oh, but I’ll skin her for it. I’ll 
scratch her brown eyes out ! I’ll ” 

“Hush, Miss Scrimp. You will not in any way 
dare to injure the poor girl. I have not ^aid she was 
a witness. I have said there were at first two wit- 
nesses — you, in your own confession, make the 
third. I need no more. You can go to your room, 
while I put on my things and go for an officer.” 

“Oh, mercy!” screamed Miss Scrimp, “don’t have 
me arrested. I did do it. I did read the letter. 
There were only two lines of reading in it, and I 
couldn’t make nothin’ out o’ them. Oh, dear, dear, 
it will be the ruin of me— the everlastin’ ruin. Oh, 
do have mercy on a poor creetur’ that has always 
been as good to you as she knew how.” 

And Miss Scrimp threw herself on her knees on 
the bare, uncarpeted fioor, and with tears streaming 
down her sallow cheeks, looked in agony on the girl 
who held her at her mercy. 

“Some one has stolen the letter off my shelf, 
where I hid it,” she moaned. “If they hadn’t I 
would have brought it right up to you. Oh, do pity 
me. Miss Hattie. I was so put out ’cause I couldn’t 


60 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


find out who was a writin’ to you from Calif orny. 
Do forgive me; I’ll never, never do so again.” 

“Get up and sit down,” said Hattie. “Never kneel 
except to the Father above, and of Him ask forgive- 
ness. If I should abstain from arresting you for this 
crime you must promise me several things and keep 
your promises, too, or I shall ,not keep mine. And 
you must answer several questions truly. On your- 
self now will depend my action.” 

“Oh, I’ll promise anything, and keep it, too, and 
I’ll answer all you ask, if you’ll only not have me 
arrested. I know I did wrong, I knew it all the time 
I was doing it, but it seemed as if I couldn’t help it.” 

“Promise me from this time on to treat' poor Jes- 
sie Albemarle kindly, never to whip her, never even 
to scold her without she is at fault,” said Hattie. 

“I promise,” sobbed Miss Scrimp. 

“And promise if one of the poor girls, or any of 
them, are taken sick, not to treat her or them in- 
humanly, and send them off to suffer, but to wait 
till they can recover and pay for their board and 
nursing.” 

“I promise,” gasped Miss Scrimp. 

“Next, I want you to put enough on the table for 
your boarders to eat, so that they need not arise 
from the table hungry.” 

“It’ll ruin me, but I’ll do it,” moaned the hapless 
woman, fairly writhing at the thought. 

“I will ask no more promises now. If you keep 
what you have made you will have no cause to re- 
gret it. But there are a few questions for you to 
answer. You have got Jessie Albemarle bound out 
to you till she reaches the age of eighteen?” 

“Yes, I got her from the asylum.” 

“What do you know about her parentage?” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


61 


“ITothing, for sure, except what they told me at 
the asylum. They said she was left there a baby, 
in nice clothes, with a lot of fine things in a basket. 
There was a gold necklace around her neck, and on 
the clasp the name, Jessie Albemarle, and in the 
basket a note asking she might be kept tenderly, 
for some day she’d be called for. And they kept her 
there, and taught her readin’, and writin’, and 
’rithmetic, and all that, till she was over twelve 
years old, and then I got her. She hasn’t growed a 
bit since, though she is over fifteen now.” 

‘‘No wonder, for you have starved and worked 
her almost to death. But this cruelty shall go no 
farther ; henceforth she shall be treated at least like 
a human being. ” 

“Oh, Miss Hattie, aren’t you going to have any 
mercy on me?” 

“All, and even more than you deserve. Miss 
Scrimp. But I am not done with my questions yet. 
A lady called here not long ago to ask after Jessie 
Albemarle?” 

“Yes, and I told her she had run away. T didn’t 
know where she was.” 

“What did you do it for?” 

“I was afraid it was the girl’s mother, and I’d lose 
Jess, when I need her so much.” 

“Oh, you heartless creature! What did the lady 
say?” 

“She cried and took on terrible, but I didn’t let 
her into the house fer fear she’d see Jess. I hap- 
pened by good luck to be at the door when she came. 
She was a grand looking lady, with diamonds in her 
ears and on her fingers.” 

“Was that the last you heard of it?” 

“No, they sent for me down to the asylum, and I 


62 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


told ’em the same story. I said Jess had run away.” 

‘‘That makes another fraud, Miss Scrimp, for 
which you could be arrested and punished.” 

“Oh, dear me! YouTLnot have me arrested for 
what I tell you, when I only answer the questions 
you force on me.” 

“It depends entirely on yourself now. Treat Jes- 
sie kindly, set a good fair table. I ask no luxuries, 
only that you have enough for all, and you are safe 
from the arrest which I can and will have made if 
you break a single promise.” 

“ITl keep my word if it just ruins me,” sighed 
Miss Scrimp. “And now. Miss Hattie, please, please 
do me one favor.” 

“What is it?” 

“Tell me who is it that is writin’ to you froml^ 
Calif orny. I’m just dyin’ to know.” 

“I cannot tell you at present,” said Hattie. “The 
time may not be far distant when I shall make no - 
secret of it to you or any one else. How you can go.”^.* 

“Thankee, Miss Hattie. I’ll live in hopes. But I’d 
give anything to know now.” 

Hattie made no answer, and Miss Scrimp took up 
her lamp and crept down stairs again to mourn 
over the change that had got to come in her house- 
hold. 

And Hattie, delighted at her victory, pondered 
over a new thought. How would she go to work to 
discover if the lady who had called was really the 
mother of Little Jessie, and if so, how could she in- 
form her that her child was alive and needful of a 
mother’s care and love? 

“It can only be done by advertising, and I will do 
it,” said Hattie, after she had thought over it a 
while. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


63 


Then she took the crumpled letter, of two lines 
only, and looked at it over and over again, with 
tears in her eyes. 

‘‘Oh, Father in Heaven, guide me!’’ she said. 
“Dare I trust him now? Has he surely conquered 
that fearful appetite or passion which drags so 
many noble souls down to death and perdition?” 




\'\v 


64 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FOOB. 


CHAPTER XIIL 
‘‘it is a gem!’’ he cried. 

Mr. Legare sat in his magnificent library, talking 
with Frank and Lizzie, his only children. Where 
the large room was not lined with book-cases filled 
from ceiling to floor with choice works, paintings 
by the masters of art filled every space. 

To a scholar and an artist that library would 
seem a fairy region where taste and fancy, roam- 
ing hand in hand, could live forever. And Mr. Le- 
e:are had tastes which fed on the artistic beauty of 
his paintings, and enioyed the worth of his valuable 
books. He had tried to rear his children to the 
same taste, to similar noble and ' improving studies. 
But he had also, with his almost unlimited wealth, 
given them access to all fashionable pleasures, and 
the consequence was that both son and daughter 
found more pleasure in the outside world than in 
the solid realities of their palace-like home. The 
opera and its circle of fashion, theatrical spectacles, 
not the grand old plays of Shakespeare, balls, 
route,:*, and club pastimes suited them far better 
than to gaze on those noble works of art, or pore 
over the grand array of books which filled the hun- 
dreds of shelves in the best private library in the 
great city. 

Mr. Legare was looking over his last acquisition, 
the rare old reviews, beautifully bound, which had 

just been sent in from Mr. W ’s book-bindery. 

The work was, as usual with that establishment, 
elegantly done ; but Mr. Legare was intently look- 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


65 


ing over the inside of the works, while Frank and 
Lizzie were looking over a new collection of fine 
English prints, which had just been received from 
London, and were now spread out on the mosaic 
table-center. 

Suddenly an exclamation of surprise and pleasure 
broke from the old gentleman’s lips. 

Wonderful! It is a gem I and it illustrates the 
subject perfectly!” he cried. 

‘‘What is it that pleases you so, papa?” asked the 
daughter. 

“A pencil sketch on the blank leaf of this old re- 
view. It is an illustrated idea of a dream of Martin 
Luther — angels poring over the revealed word of 
God. It is perfection, and entirely fresh. It must 

be the work of that wonderful girl down at W ’s 

bindery, for she alone has had the care of this work 
since it left my hands, and the drawing was not 
there when I took the pages to the bindery. It must 
be the work of that wonderfully gifted girl. I’ll 
find out, and if it is, she must and shall "have a 
chance to study art. This sketch would do credit to 
a Dore, or any other artist. Come and look at it, 
Frank.” 

“Excuse me, father, I am looking over your new 
portfolio, and, moreover, I am no believer in the 
wonderful talent of shop-girls. It is very easy, when 
so many works are coming and going, to make 
copies of sketches. That may be a copy from Dore, 
for all you know.” 

“Even if copied, none but an artistic hand could 
do it so well,” said the old gentleman, his eyes still 
lingering over the sketch. 

At that moment a tall lady, of middle age, noble 


66 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH. 


in appearance, and dressed richly, but plainly, and 
in excellent taste, entered the room. 

Both the young people arose with a glad cry : 

‘‘Aunt Louisa, when did you come? Oh, how glad 
we are to see you!” 

And the old gentleman left his book and its new- 
found illustration, to greet the visitor, who, it 
seemed, was a widowed sister of his late wife, who, 
living in another city, visited him occasionally, and 
ever found a welcome, a warm and heartfelt wel- 
come, from himself and his children. 

The children, or rather young people — they were 
rather too old to be called children — loved their 
Aunt Louisa very much, for she was all tenderness 
to them, and though often sad, as if a secret sorrow 
lay heavily on her heart, she was ever ready to join 
them in any festive movement, any pleasure-giving 
excursion, and seemed to strive to be doubly cheer- 
ful to add to their happiness on such occasions. 

“I have but just arrived,” she said, “and even left 
my trunk at the depot in my haste to see the dear 
ones here.” 

“I will send George for it right away, dear aunt- 
give me the check,” cried Frank. 

‘“And then come here and look at these old works, 
Louisa, and a wonderful little pencil sketch I have 
just discovered,” said the old gentleman. 

The lady handed her nephew the check for her 
baggage, and while he went out to send the coach- 
man after it, she went to the table where Mr. Legare 
-had been seated, examining the newly-bound works. 

“What artist drew that?” she exclaimed, the mo- 
ment her eyes fell on the sketch which had so at- 
tracted his attention. 

“I am not sure yet,” he answered. “But I believe 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB, 


67 


it to be tbe production of a poor girl, whom I found 
sewing in a bindery for four dollars a week, and yet 
a complete mistress of five different languages — per- 
haps more. I see her initials, ‘H. B.’, in one corner 
of the sketch.’’ 

“How old is this wonderful girl?” asked the lady, 
with an air of sudden interest. 

“She may be twenty or even one or two years 
older. Not under eighteen, at any rate,” replied the 
old gentleman. 

“Too old!” sighed the lady to herself, in a sad 
whisper. 

What she meant we cannot know. Her brother- 
in-law did hot hear her, or only the sigh, if he did, 
and he continued : 

“I got the girl promoted as a reader and collator, 
and now they give her ten dollars a week for work 
on just such jobs as this— arranging and preparing 

choice old works like these. W had quite a lot 

on hand which he could do nothing with up til the 
talent and education of this girl came into notice al- 
most by accident. She is a wonder. Louisa — you 
are childless— I do wish you would adopt that girl. 
She is lovely as a picture.” 

Tears came into the hazel eyes of the lady as she 
said : • 

“I fear my heart would not go out to a stranger I” 

“You could not help likirg this girl. She is so 
modest and unobtrusive. Her employer, and the 
foreman, under whom she has worked for over two 
years, speak in the highest terms of her. She makes 
no associates, and for a wonder no enemies, though 
she shuns all acquaintance.” 

“We shall have to go and see this wonderful girl. 
Aunt Louisa,” said Lizzie, rather petulantly. “Papa 


68 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB, 


is quite carried away with her. He could talk of 
nothing else when he came home to lunch on the 
day he discovered her.^’ 

“Perhaps we will go to see her some day!’’ said 
her Aunt Louisa, in a kindly tone. “It is not often 
we find refinement and the proof of education among 
those who toil for their daily bread. No matter how 
gifted the toiler may be by nature, he or she has but 
little time to improve the gifts of nature.” 

“That is only too true!” said Mr. Legare. “And 
so much the more it becomes the duty of us, who 
have been blessed with wealth, to use that wealth in 
helping these rough jewels to see the light. Though 
I shall leave my children enough for all proper needs 
and uses — enough for them to hold their station in 
life and enjoy it — I intend to leave a good bequest 
for the purpose of aiding the poor who desire an edu- 
cation in literature and art. There are so many in 
this world who long to rise and cannot, because 
they are weighed down by poverty’s cruel load.” 

“You are right. A nobler use for surplus wealth 
could not be found,” said the lady, warmly. “I am 
glad to hear you say this. When I see a man pass 
away, leaving millions on millions, only to be in- 
creased by souls as sordid as his own, I think that 
he who forgets God’s poor dn earth will himself be 
unknown in heaven. Good words go a great way, 
but good works go ever so much farther.” 

“There! Hear that music!” cried Lizzie; “it is 
the bell for lunch. Frank will join us at table. 
Come, Aunt Louisa— come, papa, dear; I am as 
hungry as a I don’t know what.” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


69 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A MARKED CHANGE. 

‘‘Ochone ! The ould boy has got into the mistress, 
to he sure, and all to wanst. Here’s real round 
steak, and I’m ordered to broil it nice for the 
breakfast, instead of frying it in hog-fat like I used 
to ; and there’s twice as much as we ever had before. 
And she has got fresh bread in the basket ! And Lit- 
tle Jess is cackling round like a pullet after corn, 
and the mistress said I wasn’t to spake a cross word 
to her. Sure, I belave the worruld is cornin’ to an 
end. I am to put two cups of ground coffee in the 
pot instead of one, and I’m not to water the milk 
any more after the milk-man laves it, but take two 
quarts instead of one. I do belave the ould maid is 
a-goin’ crazy. She looks as if she had been a-cryin’ 
all night; and there’s that Jess a-settin’ the table, 
and a-singin’ like a little canary. I’d like to slap 
the jade over ; I’d make her sing like a cat with a 
basin of hot water on its hide!” 

Thus Biddy Lanigan heralded the sudden change 
in her department of Miss Scrimp’s boarding-house. 
It was evident she did not like it. It gave her a good 
deal more work — and hotter work; for the steak, 
formerly fried till too hard to be eatable, on the 
range, now had to be broiled over hot coals. 

‘T’ll have a raise o’ wages for this, or I’ll lave,” 
she muttered, as she turned the juicy steak. For 
she knew how to cook it nicely when it had to be 
done. She had ever kept and cooked the best in a 
proper way for her mistress and herself. 


70 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


At last, early as the hour was, not fairly light out- 
doors, the breakfast bell rang, and the girls trooped 
into the breakfast room. 

How Hati’ ; enjoyOvA their looks of wonder, and 
then their cries of joy. 

steak— so tender and juicy!’’ cried one. 

“Fresh bread and butter! Dear me!” cried 
another. 

“Oh, such coffee — with real milk in it!” almost 
screamed a third. 

And merrily, happily, the girls went to work over 
those luxuries like a bevy of singing birds in a field 
of grain. 

Even Miss Scrimp’s face grew softer as she heard 
the merry music at her board, though a sigh now 
and then told that this extravagance, while it saved 
her from a prison cell, was eating vastly into the 
profits which she had hitherto made. 

Wild Kate, in the exuberance of her feelings over 
this change, made a speech. She often did. But 
seldom did she make one so much to the point. 

“Girls,” said she, “isn’t this just glorious! Over 
this cup of nice coffee I feel like weeping, for hav- 
ing been so saucy to good Miss Scrimp last night. 
Over this delicious steak I feel like promising never 
to find a fault here again, without real, strong oc- 
casion for it. Over this sweet butter and this fresh, 
nice bread, cut thick, I feel like giving thanks both 
to Heaven, and to her who has provided such a 
splendid table, and to move a vote of thanks from us 
all 1 j . : Scrimp.” 

“Th Thanks!” rose from every girl’s lips 

at the treble. 

“Let us also thank Biddy Lanigan for cooking all 
these luxuries so nicely!” added Hattie Butler, who 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB, 71 

saw the cook standing near the door, in her accus- 
tomed position. 

“I knew that angel-born wouldn’t forget ould 
Biddy. She has ever the kind word for me!” cried 
the happy Lanigan. 

“Thanks to Biddy Lanigan, and Little Jess, too,” 
shouted Wild Kate, and the cry echoed from one 
end of the room to the other. 

But the girls had not long to tarry over this new 
and joyous scene. They all bad to reach their work- 
shops on time, or be cut short in wages, and soon 
they were all speeding away to their various des- 
tinations. 

' And Jessie sat down for the first time in many a 
long, sad day to a full, substantial meal, with time 
enough allowed her to eat it. And when it was time 
to clear up the table and wash the dishes, she went 
to her work with a song on her lips and gladness in 
her heart. Hitherto sighs and tears had accom- 
panied her labors. 

When Miss Scrimp sat down to her breakfast, 
which was no better than the boarders had just en- 
joyed, Biddy was the first to speak. 

“ Worra I but wasn’t I mad with the stame and the 
hate when I was a-cookin’ the breakfast sure. But 
when I saw how good the girl craythurs felt, and 
how thankful they were, sure the mad all went off, 
and I felt like I do when the praste hears me at con- 
fession and says it’s all right. ‘Biddy, go along wid 
ye, say all your prayers, and be a good woman.” 

“It costs awful,” was all Miss Scrimp said, but 
there was a whole volume of misery in the sigh 
which followed her words. 

“ITl keep it up if I can,” she continued. “If I 
can’t, why I can’t.” 


72 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


‘^What sot ye to doin’ it?” asked Biddy. 

The question confused Miss Scrimp. Not for any 
consideration would she have Biddy know the truth. 
It would have ruined her in Biddy’s estimation if 
the latter had known she had succumbed to the de- 
mands of the cheapest boarder in the house. 

‘T thought I’d just try a change,” she said. ‘T’d 
got so sick of bearin’ the girls grumble and growl, 
I thought I’d see what real good feedin’ would do 
with them.” 

At that instant Miss Scrimp caught a glimpse of 
Jessie Albemarle’s face. The girl hardly dared to, 
but she seemed to want to laugh right out; and 
from that instant Miss Scrimp knew that Jessie 
Albemarle knew why and how the change had come. 

And the moment she could get the little girl alone 
after breakfast, she said to her, in a kinder tone 
than she had ever used to her before : 

“Jessie, my dear, if you will keep a close mouth 
about all you know you’ll never be sorry for it. I’ll 
have a nice cot-bed put up in your room, .and you 
shall have two new calico frocks, and a good, soft 
pair of shoes.” 

“Thank you, Miss Scrimp. Miss Hattie told me 
not to say anything as long as I was treated well, 
and you may be sure I’ll mind her. She is the best 
friend I ever had.” 

Miss Scrimp would really have Irked to tear the 
poor girl limb from limb, but she dared not even be 
cross with her, so, with what she meant for a smile, 
she told her to go and do her work, and take her 
time about it. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


73 


CHAPTER XV. 

A PROPOSITION. 

Mr. "W was not much surprised, after what 

Frank Legare had said, when he received a visit from 
the father of that young gentleman, nor astonished 
when in the office Mr. Legare asked him if he would 
not send for Hattie But5«r, for he had a question to 
ask her in regard to the book which he held in his 
hand, one of those recently bound. 

“I hope the book is bound right,’’ said Mr. W , 

after having told his foreman to send Hattie Butler 
to the office. 

‘‘Oh, yes, it is bound perfectly, and partially illus- 
trated,’’ said Mr. Legare, smiling. “I wish to make 
inquiry in regard to the illustration.” 

The next moment Hattie entered the office, calm, 
completely self-possessed* and lady-like. 

“Mr. Legare wishes to make some inquiry of you. 

Miss Hattie,” said Mr. W . “Take a seat. I 

will leave you with him.” 

“Xot so, my dear sir— remain,” said Mr. Legare, 
promptly. “I have no questions to ask of this young 
lady which you should not hear. I found a drawing 
in this book, and I am very anxious to know who 
made the sketch. It is an illustration of Martin Lu- 
ther’s Dream.” 

A slight flush arose on Hattie’s cheek when he 
opened the book and pointed to the pencil sketch. 

“I meant no wrong, sir,” she said ; “ib was a care- 
less fancy, done in a few moments in our dinner 
hour, when we are at rest to eat or exercise as we 


7i BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 

please. I had read the dream, had my pencil in my 
pocket, saw the blank page, and made the sketch 
without a thought that any one would ever notice it. 
I often draw little fancies like that when I have 
nothing else to do. I have a portfolio of them at 
my room.” 

“I will buy every one of them at your own price, 
young lady. I conceive myself to be a connoisseur 
in art, and I assure you that you draw like a master. 
You have talent, great talent.” 

“Really, sir, I fear you put too high an estimate 
on my poor efforts. I once took a few lessons when 
I was with my dear«mother, but the crabbed Italian 
who taught me said my fingers were stiff, and I had 
no eye for lines of grace.” 

“He was a fool. Those angels almost speak in 
real life-likeness. I must see your portfolio and have 
the first privilege of purchasing if any or all of your 
drawings are for sale.” 

“I hardly think, sir, they are of any value. But I 
will bring my portfolio here to-morrow, and leave it 

with Mr. W , so that you can look it through at 

your leisure.” 

“Thank you. You are very kind.” 

“Have you anything further to say, sir. I am in 
a hurry ; a part of the work I am now collating is 
on the sewing-bench, and the sewers will want the 
rest.” 

“Nothing further,” answered Mr. Legare, and 
Hattie hurried away to her work, doubtless pleased 
to know that another of her talents had become 
known and appreciated. 

“Have you never discovered that girTs wonderful 

talent with the pencil before, Mr. W ?” asked 

the man of wealth. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH. 


75 


‘‘Never, sir; it is as great a surprise to me to-day 
as our mutual discovery of her proficiency in lan- 
guages.’’ 

“She is a wonderful girl.” 

“A perfect mystery, sir— a perfect mystery. That 
she is a born lady, looks, actions, language, all tes- 
tify. That she has been a willing, steady, silent, 
humble toiler here for over two years, I know. I 
feel as if it was unjust to her to remain in such a 
lowly position ; but I know not how she can be re- 
moved from it.” 

“I do,” said Mr. Legare. 

J‘Ah ! If not too bold, may I ask your plan?” said 
Mr. W , turning very red in the face. 

“Simply this : I have a widowed sister-in-law. She 
is a wealthy lady, of almost angelic disposition. She 
is childless. I will get her to adopt this young lady. 
She can give her a brilliant home, and a chance to 
enjoy all her tastes and talents. I am sure, from 
the character which you give of her. Miss Butler 
will more than justify the adoption.” 

“It would indeed be a generous and a noble act, 
and could not be bestowed on a more worthy ob- 
ject,” said Mr. W . 

And a sigh, which even he could hardly have ac- 
counted for, followed his remark. 

“She is staying at my house now, and I will have 
her call at this girl’s boarding-house to see her,” 
said Mr. Legare, “or perhaps it would be better she 
should call here?” 

“Would it not be easier for the lady to communi- 
cate her offer by letter,” suggested Mr. W . 

“It might be easier, but hardly so satisfactory as 
it would be for them to see each other, and judge, as 
most people will from an interview, how one would 


76 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


like the other. But I’ll tell you what to do, , 

sound the girl on the subject, and see what her feel- 
ings are, and let me know. Then it will be time 
enough to decide how to bring on a meeting between 
her and Mrs. Emory, my sister-in-law.” 

“All right, Mr. Legare. I will endeavor to disclose 
your plan to Miss Butler in as delicate a manner as 
possible. I know she is very high-strung and inde- 
pendent, and she will shrink from incurring obliga- 
tions unless she feels that she can render an equiva- 
lent.” 

“She could. My sister-in-law is a sad and lonel}" 
woman. Some secret sorrow, which her friends 
could never fathom, has laid heavily on her heart 
for years. It makes her so melancholy at times that 
we have almost feared for her reason. A sweet, 
companionable girl, intellectual and gifted, would 
be a blessing in her lonely home.” 

“It would seem so. Can I speak of the lady and 
her circumstances?” asked W . 

“Certainly. Say all that I have said to Miss But- 
ler, and add that I feel a fatherly interest in her 
welfare. Were I childless, I would adopt her my- 
self. But I have two dear children, a son and 
daughter, as you know, and they would think it 
treason to them were I to invite another to my 
home.” 

“And who could blame them?” added Mr. W . 

“Well, I will approach the young lady on the mat- 
ter, and let you know what she thinks about it the 
next time you call.” 

“Which will be very soon,” said Mr. Legare, now 
taking his leave. 

“Jupiter Tonans! I see a way now which will 
make even my proud sisters come to my views. The 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


77 


poor shop-girl, once adopted in a wealthy and aristo- 
cratic family, will not be objectionable to them, if 
indeed in that position she is ever recognized as 
having been here. I will persuade her to accept this 
adoption, and then, if it be possible to persuade her 
to accept me as a husband, I shall be the happiest 
man alive ; for I cannot deny in my own heart that 
I love the sweet girl even where she is, and as she 
is, and had I only my own feelings to consult, I 
would tell her so, and offer her my hand within the 
hour.” 

Thus soliloquized Mi. W , while she who so 

occupied his thoughts went steadily on with her 
task, thinking, while so engaged, of nothing else. 

And he was studying whether it would do to 
approach her mind on this subject of adoption there 
in the bindery, or at home in her boarding- 
house, where possibly his interview, which might 
be lengthy, would not be so noticed as it would be if 
held in the shop or his office. 

For he knew he could not be too careful, either for 
her or for himself, in a world where nine-tenths of 
the people are censorious and full of suspicion, and 
the other tenth as ready to believe evil as good, no 
matter whence it comes. 

So he decided, having her address, as well as that 
of every other employee, on his books, to call upon 
her at her boarding-house. 

So he sat down at his desk and wrote these words : 

“Miss Hattie: — Friends who feel a deep interest 
in your welfare, who appreciate your clear intellect, 
your excellent education, your talent, and your 
graces of person and manner, have deputed me to 
make a proposition alike honorable to you and nobly 
generous in them— a proposition which will remove 


78 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


you from the world of toil and care to a position of 
affluence and independence, without compromising 
your dignity or lessenitig you in your esteem. To 
convey the proposition, it is necessary I should hold 
a brief interview with you, and it seems to me it 
would be more consistent and proper for your posi- 
tion and mine that I should hold the interview at 
your residence or boarding-house. Therefore, I will 
call there this evening, at eight o’clock, to see you, 
in the presence of friends, if you think it necessary, 
or alone, if you will trust in the sincerity and honor 
of one who would wish to rank as your best and 
most unselfish friend. Edward W — 

After reading this note carefully over, and finding 
nothing to change in it, he sealed and directed it, 
and going to Hattie’s table, just before, it was time 
to leave off work, laid the note before her, and 
said: 

“Do me a favor. Miss Hattie. This note is on im- 
portant business. But do not read it until you go 
home.” 

She bowed her head in assent. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


79 


CHAPTER XVL 
haitie’s resolve. 

Hattie Butler left the bindery at her usual hour, 
and pausing only long enough to buy an evening 
paper, as she always did on her way, after her in- 
crease of salary made her feel able to do so, she 
hurried to her boarding-house. 

Now, the writer is not one who believesdihat woman 
is one half as full of curiosity as man is, but she 
will not deny that her heroine really did feel de- 
cidedly anxious to know the nature of the important 
business which her employer had told her would be 
revealed in the note which she was not to open until 
she reached home. 

Hattie lost no time in reaching home, and as she 
had fully ten minutes to spare before the supper-bell 
would ring, she went up to her room to take off her 
bonnet and shawl, instead of leaving them on the 
hooks in the long hall, as she generally did. 

On her way to lier room Hattie met Little Jessie 
Albemarle, who ran to her and whispered : 

‘‘Miss Scrimp has been ever so good to me all day. 
I’ve got a cot-bed, and sheets, and a pillow in my 
room now, and I’m to have two new calico dresses 
in a day or two.'” 

“I’m very glad, dear,” said Hattie. “I hope your 
dark days are over, and that before long I shall have 
very, very good news for you. How, run down to 
your work, dear — I’m going to my room a minute, 
but will be down to supper. ” 

And Jessie, full of a new happiness— it was so 
strange to be kindly treated even for a single day— 


80 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


ran down to her duties singing, while Hattie hurried 
to her room, lighted her lamp, and opened her note. 

A look of wonder and of real perplexity gathered 
over and clouded her face as she read it a second 
time. 

‘ “I cannot, for my life, understand his meaning. 
What can the proposition be? He knows me too well 
to ever make any offer but one that the noblest-born 
woman in the world could accept. I am poor, but 
I am proud— not of beauty, not of education, but of 
a pure and spotless name, of an honor untarnished 
by an evil act or thought. He speaks kindly, seems 
to be very sincere, and is surely respectful. I will 
meet him, and in the parlor below, for I would 
blush to have any one, see these poor surroundings 
when they know I could afford better. I know it is 
against Miss Scrimp’s rules to admit .gentleman 
visitors to see her boarders, but in this case she 
must permit the rule to be broken. I will tell her I 
must see a gentleman on important business. He is 
my employer, and it is my right to meet him here.’’ 

This matter settled in her own mind, Hattie let 
down her gloriously-beautiful hair, arranged her 
simple toilet daintily, and went down stairs to sup- 
per at the very moment the bell rang. 

“Wonder on wonders ! What will happen next !*’ 
was what Wild Kate said as she filed with the rest 
into the room. 

There was an extra lamp over the center of the 
long table, and the increased light shown on a row 
of plates of cold tongue, sliced ham, cheese, and 
three large, real sweet cakes, equally distant on 
the table. 

Such extravagance could not be remembered by 
Miss Scrimp’s oldest boarder. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


81 


And -Little Jess was assisted by Biddy Lanigan 
herself in passing around full cups— not of hot 
water, but of real nice tea, with white sugar and 
good milk. 

“Miss Scrimp, you’re just the dearest old maid 
that ever refused a good offer!” cried Wild Kate, 
impulsively. ‘^And you’re not old either. You are 
twenty years younger to-night than you were last 
night when I was saucing you, like the bad girl 
that I am.” 

“We’ll let by-gones be by-gones. Miss Kate. Take 
hold — you’ll find no hairs in your butter to-night!” 
said Miss Scrimp, quite graciously for her. 

“If I did I wouldn’t be so mean as to tell of it!” 
said Kate, as she took two slices of cold ham to her- 
self. “Girls, if this thing keeps on I’m one to put 
down a dollar toward buying Miss Scrimp a new 
silk dress!” 

“And I will double it if we buy good nice dresses 
for Biddy Lanigan and good Little Jessie !” said Hat- 
tie, quietly, but distinctly from her chair near the 
head of the table. 

“Glory to her soul! I knew Miss Hattie wouldn’t 
forget me!” cried Biddy, and she put a strong cup 
of tea each side of her plate to show her gratitude. 

The clatter of busy knives and forks, the cheerful 
hum of happy voices now drowned everything else, 
and Hattie, who made as usual but a light supper, 
took occasion when she was sure no one else would 

hear her to tell Miss Scrimp that Mr. W , her 

employer, had made an appointment to meet her 
there on business at eight o’clock, and she wished to 
see him in her parlor. 

“You know it’s agin my rules, dear,’^ said Miss 
Scrimp, trying hard to be gracious. 


82 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


‘‘I Know it, Miss Scrimp, and under, no other cir- 
cumstances would I ask the favor,'" replied Hattie, 
still speaking in an undertone. 

“Couldn’t you see him in my room, and I’d make 
it seem as if he came to see me on business,” said 
Miss Scrimp, in a pleading tone. “You see, if once 
I break over my rule, every girl in the house will be 
askin’ to have her beau meet her in my parlor, and 
the whole house would soon be overrun by horrid 
men.” 

“I did not take that view of the case when I made 
the application. But, on second thought, I am very 

willing to see Mr. W in your sitting-room and 

in your presence.” 

“That’s a dear, good girl! I’ll fix it so I let him 
in myself, and I’ll take him right to my room, 
where you’ll be, and not a girl in the house shall see 
him, or know who he came to see other than me,” 
said the old maid, happy at the thought that she 
could hear what this important business was. 

A secret to Miss Scrimp was a jewel to be 
possessed at the risk of death almost. 

Seeing that the clock at the end of the dining-room 
was about to strike eight, she whispered to Hattie 
to go to her room, and left the table herself just as 
the front door bell rang. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


CHAPTER XYII. 

THE INTERVIEW. 

‘HTl go to the door, dear — you keep on waitin’ on 
the table. I’m expecting the house agent,” said 
Miss Scrimp to Little Jessie, who started when she 
heard the bell ring. 

And while Miss Scrimp went to the front door, 
Hattie Butler, in her usual leisurely way, left the 
table, ais if going to her own room. But, when out 
of the dining-room, she hurried up the first flight of 
stairs, and turned into the room used both as sitting- 
room and chamber by Miss Scrimp. While at the 
head of the stairs she heard her landlady say: 

‘'Come right in, sir, you’re expected. Come right 
in.” 

The curiosity of Miss Scrimp to know what im- 
portant business her boarder could havcj, made the 
old spinster even cordial to a horrid man. 

In another minute Miss Scrimp shuffled in in her 
slip-shod shoes, and she was followed by Mr. W . 

When the door was closed, Hattie formally intro- 
duced the famous and wealthy proprietor of the 
bindery to her boarding mistress, and then added : 

“If you please, Mr. W , you can mention your 

business in the presence of this lady. I will answer 
for her silence in regard to it hereafter, whatever 
it may be.” ' 

“Certainly, Miss Hattie,” said he. 

But he was a little confused, and evidently would 
not have had that vinegar-faced woman there if he 
could help it. But in his own note he had told her 


84 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


to have witnesses to the interview if she desired, 
and surely it was prudent to have that hideous old 
ghost of a landlady there— perhaps policy, too, for 
in contrast Hattie looked positively angelic. 

Mr. W had never seen that wealth of glossy 

raven hair floating in shining, curling masses down 
over her white shoulders clear to her waist, before, 
and she had put on a neat, real lace collar when she 
went to her room; and a pair of daintily; ruffled cuffs 
made her small hands look even yet more delicate, 
and they were such beautiful hands, without a 
single ring to mar their delicate contour. 

Mr. W hesitated only a moment, while his 

eager eyes drank in that flood of beauty, and then 
he said : 

“I was sent to you by Mr. Legare, who has a 
wealthy, widowed sister-in-law, a Mrs. Louisa 
Emory, residing in a neighboring city, who is child- 
less and lonely. She is a lady in every sense, of a 
sweet and loving disposition, and a companion like 
yourself would be a treasure to her. If you will con- 
sent, Mr. Legare, who, like myself, is truly and sin- 
cerely your friend, and deeply interested in your 
welfare, will propose to her that she adopt you as a 
daughter— to receive all a daughter’s lo\ e and privi- 
leges.” 

Hattie looked at Mr. W with astonishment. 

The thought of being adopted as a daughter by a 
lady of wealth whom she had never seen, and who 
had never seen her, was so strange. And it was just 
like the stupidity of mankind to go to work that 
way about it. 

“You can think of it leisurely, Miss Hattie, and 
give me your answer in writing, if you like,” con- 
tinued Mr. W , 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


85 


‘‘I will give you an answer before you leave, Mr. 

W said Hattie, quietly. “But before I do so 

I would ask your opinion about this affair?” 

“Really, Miss Hattie, I consider it one of the most 
brilliant chances of your young life. You are too 
well educated, too talented, and, believe me, I say it 
not in flattery, too beautiful, to drudge your life 
awa} in a book-bindery, when you can ornament 
the highest circles of society. If you ask it as ad- 
vice, I would say accept this proposition, for it would 
not have been made by Mr. Legare without he knew 
it would prove a happiness to his often sad-hearted 
sister-in-law. She is now visiting at his house, and 
to-morrow an interview between you would soon 

show how you would like her.” 

“She might not like me,” said Hattie, with a 
“How could she help it?” said Mr. W , impul- 


sively. 

“There will be no need for her to try,” said Hat- 
tie, gently but firmly. “Gratefully, but positively, 

I must decline the tempting offer. I am content, Mr. 

, to continue in my present condition in your 

bindery Miss Scrimp here makes it as pleasant as 
possible for her boarders, and in receiving your 
visit to-night has broken over one of her strictest 
rules-never to permit the visits of gentlemen to 

the house.” ^ -j tvt,. 

“For which I thank her in sincerity, said Mr. 

bowing gracefully to the old maid. 

“Is your decision final? . Must I take that answer 
back to Mr. Legare?” he continued, addressing Hat- 
tie, and not noticing the simpering smile with which 
Miss Scrimp received his thanks. 

“Yes, Mr. W . I am at least independent now, 


86 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


SO long as health and strength last, and, thanks to 
your generous increase of salary, I am laying up 
money which will keep me so, even should sickness 
reach me.’’ 

‘‘Heaven prevent that!” exclaimed Mr. W— — . 
“I can but admire your independence, and rejoice, 
selfishly, that I am not to lose your valuable ser- 
vices at the bindery. But I know Mr. Legare will 
grieve at your decision. He said that if he had not 
children of his own he would adopt you himself.” 

“I am grateful for his interest, and yours also, 

Mr. W , while I decline the bright future you 

would make for me. By the way, Mr. W , let me 

run up stairs to my room and get that portfolio of 
drawings, or, rather, pencil sketches, which Mr. 
Legare wished to see — that is, if it is not too much 
trouble for you to take them.” 

“It is not a trouble, but a pleasure instead,” he 
said, and away she went. 

“The dear creetur! Who’d think she’d refuse 
such a chance? Most any girl in the world would 
just snap at it,” said Miss Scrimp, determined to 
keep the “horrid man” interested while in her pres- 
ence. 

“She is superior to most of her sex,” said Mr. 
W , with a sigh. 

“That’s true as gospel,” said Miss Scrimp. And 
she sighed, just to keep him company, you know. 

Hattie was gone but a few seconds. Flushed in 
color by her exercise— for she had run up and down 
stairs— her beauty seemed heightened when she re- 
turned, bearing a portfolio, with a clasp, and on it a 
monogram — the letters “G. E. L.” 

“They are all in here, and when he has looked 
them over he can take any that he desires at his own 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


87 


price, and hand the rest back to you,’’ said Hattie, 
as she handed the portfolio to Mr. W . 

“And I hope to be allowed to purchase what he 

leaves, if indeed any,” said Mr. W . ‘The 

drawing you made in his book was a pleasant sur- 
prise to me. I did not know we had such a talented 
artist in the bindery.” 

Mr. W arose to go, and Miss Scrimp stood 

ready to see him to the door. 

“Please wait here a minute, dear— I want to say 
something to you,” she whispered to Hattie as she 
went out. 

After seeing Mr. W out. Miss Scrimp hurried 

back and found Hattie waiting. 

“What luck!” said the former, as she shuffled into 
the room. “Not a girl in the house saw him come 
or go. And what a nice man he is I Why, Miss 
Hattie, I’d almost have him myself, if he’d ask me. 
And I’d make no mean match, either. I’m just 
forty-six, and I’ve a thousand dollars in bank for 
every year of my life. Now, don’t tell him so— or if 
you should happen to let it slip, be sure and tell 
him not to tell any one else. I’ve got it safe in the 
best bank in the city.” 

“Was that all you wanted to say to me. Miss 
Scrimp?” asked Hattie, not at all impressed by the 
bank account of the ancient young lady of acknowl- 
edged forty-six. 

“Well, no; I wanted to say how I admired your 
independence in refusing such a grand offer, and 
that I’d keep your secret ever so close.” 

“Miss Scrimp, it is no secret. I am utterly indiffer- 
ent whether it is known or remains unknown. It is 
enough for me to keep your secrets.” 


88 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB, 


And Hattie moved out of the room with the air of 
a queen. 

'‘Oh, the wretch! I could just scratch her eyes 
out!’’ hissed Miss Scrimp, when the door closed and 
she was alone. “I’m in her power, or I’d — I’d — the 
mercy only knows what I wouldn’t do! I’ll bet that 
bindery man’ll try to marry her. But he sha’n’t, 
not if I can help it. I’ll marry him myself first. 
I’ve got nigher sixty thousand dollars in bank, than 
what I told her, and if he has got something to put 
with it, he could give up book-binderies, and I’d let 
out the boarding-house business to the first one 
who’d take it. I don’t like horrid men, but I do 
like him, he smiled so sweet when .he thanked me 
for breakin’ over my rules on his account.” 

And the old spinster rubbed her thin, skinny 
hands together, and stood up before her cracked 
looking-glass, and made all sorts of pretty faces at 
herself, while she smoothed down her false hair 
and tried to see how interesting she could look in 
the glass. 

Satisfied, after wriggling into a dozen different 
positions, she went down stairs to se'e if things were 
cleared up at the table, and to take another cup of 
tea in the kitchen, for she was a great tea-drinker. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FOOB. 


89 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

CRITICISING THE SKETCHES. 

Mr. W went directly home after his interview 

with Hattie Butler, and in the presence of his sis- 
ters, Flotie and Anna, he opened the portfolio, and 
together they examined the sketches — not less than 
thirty or forty in number. They were on all kinds 
of subjects — some landscapes and others figures. 
Some few caricatures were exquisitely done — one 
was the figure of a fashionable belle, looking 
through an eye-glass at a poor ragged girl sweep- 
ing a street crossing. 

The two girls laughed over this till they cried — 
the upturned nose of the belle fairly speaking her 
scorn for the poor little sister of sorrow who was 
trying to make the crossing passable for the lady’s 
dainty feet. 

“Why, Brother Edward, here you are!” cried 
Flotie, as she took up a new sketch ; “and you seem 
to be scolding Mr. Jones, for it is his very picture, 
standing as I saw him once, with a paste-pot in one 
hand and a brush in the other.” 

Mr. W looked at the sketch, and laughed as 

heartily as his sisters had done. 

“I remember that very scene,” he said. “I came 
in one noon-time, when most of the hands were out, 
and the rest at their noon lunches, and asked him 
about some bank work — check-books, which were 
to have been delivered that morning. He had mis- 
laid the order, the work was not done, and I was 
very angry. I wonder if I did look as cross as she 
has made out in the sketch? Mr. Legare will never 


90 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


see that sketch. I wouldn’t take a hundred dollars 
in cash for it and give it up.” 

“How she has hit you. It is charming; even to 
the twist on the right mustache, which you always 
finger when you are out of sorts,” said Anna. 

“Yes, it is a perfect picture. I don’t believe Nast 
could make my face out more correctly. What are 
you looking at so intently, Flotie?” 

“A sketch by a bolder hand, far different, and 
marked ‘My Home.’ Heaven save me from ever 
living in such a home.” 

“Let me look at it.” 

And Mr. W held a sketch beneath the gas- 

light, which had creases in it, as if it had been 
folded in a letter. It was drawn on poorer, thinner 
paper than the rest also. 

He saw a bold outline of mountains, ragged, cliffy, 
and pine-covered, in the background. In front there 
was a deep, rugged, shadowy ravine, through 
which a foaming river rushed in fury. On a small, 
level spot, almost backed up against a huge rock, 
was a small log cabin, with smoke curling up from 
the chimney of rough stones, which rose from the 
ground at one end of the cabin. 

In front of the open door of the cabin a young 
man, bare-headed, was kneeling, his hands clasped, 
and such a piteous, imploring look on the face that 
it almost seemed to speak a prayer. 

“There is a whole romance in that picture,” ex- 
claimed Mr. W . “I do not believe Miss Butler 

meant it should go with the rest to Mr. Legare. I 
will keep it, at any rate, with this other sketch of 
myself, till I know her wishes. The rest I will send 
to Mr. Legare in the morning.” 

“Oh, brother, who can this be? Such a nose, such 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB, 


91 


ft chin! Why, she is cross-eyed, too, and as thin as 
a shadow, a very lean shadow at that,’’ cried Flotie, 
over a new discovery. 

“That is Miss Scrimp, the landlady where Miss 

Butler boards,” said Mr. W , laughing as heartily 

as his sister did. “It is an excellent portrait. I pre- 
sume she is taken at the moment when she is laying 
down the law to the poor creatures who are scrimped 
at her board. It is a pity so much talent should have 
been so long hidden over a sewing-bench in our 
bindery.” / 

“And so much beauty, Edward. You don’t say a 
word about that now.” 

“What is the use, Anna. She is beautiful, but she 
is poor, and only a book-bindery girl, after all. If 
she had accepted the offer of adoption into a 
wealthy lady’s family, as I hoped she would, you 
could have met her as a lady, and loved her as a 
woman.” 

“As I’m afraid my brother does already,” said 
Flotie, gravely. “It would never do, Edward, for 
you to marry one of your own shop-girls, and hope 
to introduce her to our circle.” 

A sigh was his only response, and he arose from 
the table and went to the window to hide his feel- 
ings. For every hour, every moment, he thought of 
that beautiful but poor girl— every instant when he 
recalled her estimable pride and independence, the 
modesty which had so long concealed talents which 
left every female of his acquaintance far behind, he 
loved her more and more. 

“He has got it, and got it hard,” said Flotie to 
Anna, looking at Edward as he stood there in 
gloom, with his back toward them. 

“Got what, Flotie?” 


92 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


‘^The disease called love, Anna. And he must be 
cured in some way, or farewell to the opera, ball, 
and theaters for us. What fools men are to fall in 
love anyway. For my part, I don’t want one ever 
to grow sickish over me.” 

“What does this mean?” cried Anna. “The girl 
who drew these sketches is named Hattie Butler, yet 
the monogram on the portfolio is ‘G. E. L.’ ” 

“Oh, most likely she is working under an assumed 
name. Perhaps she has fallen in fortune, and did 
not want to be known bv any former acquaintance, 
I don’t understand these things, and don’t want to. 
There is no romance about a shop-girl, in my mind.” 
Edward W heard this and sighed. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


83 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A TASK ACCOMPLISHED. 

The next morning Mr. W sent one of liis 

house-servants to the residence of Mr. Legare with 
the portfolio of drawings, but without any message, 
for he knew the old gentleman would come ^to the 
bindery to hear how he had fared in his mission, 
and he could better telL him by word of mouth than 
on paper. 

But the two sketches — the caricature of himself 
and foreman and the mountain scene — he took out, 
and carried them with him when he went down to 
the bindery. He went through the shop, as usual, 
after his arrival, and saw all the hands at their va- 
rious benches and tables, and noticed with a sigh 
that Hattie Butler, her hair neatly bound up, sat in 
her plain, but becoming, dress at her table, appar- 
ently unconscious of everything but the work before 
her. 

She did not even start and blush, as she had done 
once before, when he spoke to her, as he now bade 
her ‘‘good-morning,” but responded in a quiet, lady- 
like way— cheerfully, too — “good-morning, Mr. 
W ” 

“Will you have the kindness to step into the office 
by and by. Miss Hattie, when you are most at leis- 
ure? I have something to show you,” he said. 

“Certainly, Mr. W . I have only ten more 

pages to arrange in this volume, and it will take me 
but a little while. Then I will come.” 

W moved on around the room, speaking to 

one employee here and there till he saw her start 


9i 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


for the office, and he entered it a moment before she 
did. 

“I have taken a liberty, I fear,” said he, “but in 
looking over your portfolio I found this sketch by a 
different hand, and thinking you might not wish to 
part with it to Mr. Legare, I took it from the port- 
folio before sending it.” 

“Oh, thank you — thank you, Mr. W . I would 

not have parted with it for a world. I did not know 
it was in there. I thought I had restored it to the 

envelope in which it was sent to me by , a very 

dear friend.” 

She blushed, and seemed confused as she spoke 
thus, rapidly, holding out her hand, and taking the 
sketch. 

“And on another point I have taken a liberty,” 
he added, kindly looking away, that she might re- 
cover from her agitation. “I found a very fine por- 
trait of myself and one of Mr. Jones, our foreman, 
and, remembering well the scene, felt a desire to 
preserve it. Will you allow me to purchase it?” 

And he exhibited the sketch which had made him 
and his sisters so merry the night before. 

Hattie blushed to the very temples. 

“Oh, forgive me, Mr. W , I had forgotten that 

I ever made that sketch. If I had only thought of 
it T would have taken it out of the portfolio. But I 
was in a hurry, and perhaps agitated in my mind, 
when I got it and brought it down to you. Please 
let me tear it up ; it was a thoughtless sketch, taken 
on the moment.” 

“I would not have it torn up on any account. 
Miss Hattie. It is perfect and truthful. I want to 
frame it, and hang it up where I can see it every 
day. It will teach me not to lose my temper, as I 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


95 


did that day, with an old and a faithful employee. 
Please sell it to me.” 

“I will not sell it to you, Mr. W , but if you 

attach any value to it, please keep it as a welcome 
gift.” 

“I thank you, Miss Hattie — from my heart I thank 
you. I will strive to make you a suitable return in 
some way.” 

“I need none, Mr. W . Is this all you require 

of me?” 

“All at present, Miss Hattie. There is something 
I would like to talk with you about, but I will put it 
off to a time when I can speak and you listen 
thoughtfully.” 

Hattie bowed, and went out to her work, after 
folding up that mountain sketch. 

“I wonder who that very dear friend can be who 

sent her that sketch,” muttered Mr. W , after 

Hattie had gone. “How she blushed when she spoke 
of whence it came, and took it from my hand. Oh, 
I hope and pray her heart is not already gone. If it 
is, what have I to hope for? For I love her — madly 
love her. I must know if her heart is disengaged. 
I dare not trust myself to ask her ; I should break 
down in the attempt. ITl write to her. Yes, on paper 
I may be able to express my thoughts.” 

And going out to Mr. Jones he gave directions 
that he was not to be disturbed by any one, except 
on the most unavoidable business, for the next hour. 

And then he sat down at his desk to try to write 
out his hopes and his wishes, not asking now, as he 
had once before, “What will the world say about 
it?” 

It seemed a hard task, for three times he filled a 


96 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


sheet of paper and then burned it. It seemed as if 
he couldn’t get his thoughts together to suit him. 

But at last he completed his letter, sealed and di- 
rected it, and made up his mind to hand it to Hattie 
just as she was leaving work at night. 

And his heart was lighter after the work was 
done. He had allowed himself to rise above the 
cold conventionalities of a callous, heartless world — 
to say to himself, “if she will but have me, I will 
wed worth, modesty, purity, beauty, and virtue, no 
matter how humble the source from whence all 
these attributes spring. I will not allow false pride 
or the opinions of others to chill the ardor of true 
and manly affection. I will be true to nature and 
nature’s God, and respond to the warm and noblest 
impulses which He alone can plant in the human 
breast.” 

And it seemed as if a brighter light beamed in his 
eye when he left his office and came out among his 
work-people. There was surely a kindlier tone in 
his voice. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FOOB. 


97 


CHAPTER XX. 

GOOD ADVICE. 

The library of Mr. Legare was a favorite resort 
for his sister-in-law, Mrs. Louisa Emory — or Aunt 
Louisa, as Frank and Lizzie delighted to call her. 
In his hooks, and also in the paintings, she' found 
joys which none but an intellectual . woman could 
find, and here, even in her most melancholy moods, 
she would brighten up. 

Frank and Lizzie, who thought there was no one 
on earth like their aunt, were with her when Mr. Le- 
gare came into the library with the portfolio just re- 
ceived from Mr. W . 

“Come, sister, come, children, and look at my 
new treasures with me,” cried the old gentleman, 
taking a seat at his private writing and reading- 
table, and opening the portfolio. 

“What are these?” asked Mrs. Emory, as he 
spread out the drawings all over the table. 

“Sketches from the pencil of that wonderful girl 
in the book-bindery — the one I have already talked 
to you about. Look at this caricature — a fashion- 
able belle and a poor street-sweeper. Is it not al- 
most a speaking sketch? See the abject, almost 
hopeless look in the face of the poor girl. Who 
would believe a pencil, without color, could give so 
much expression?” 

“Your protege has wonderful talent,” said Mrs. 
Emory, her interest awakened. “Here is a portrait 
—merely a face— that of a young girl? Is it that of 
the artist herself?” 

“No, it is not at all like her,” said the old gentle- 


98 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


man, looking at it closely. ‘'This is a picture of a 
young girl, pretty, but thin and weary-looking. 
Hattie Butler is not only very handsome, but very 
lady-like. Louisa, you would be proud of her if she 
were your daughter.^’ 

A look of agony passed over the face of the lady ; 
she turned deathly pale, and for an instant she 
looked as if she would faint. 

A cry of alarm broke from the young people, and 
Mr. Legare cried out : - 

“Are you ill, dear sister, are you ill?’’ 

“A spasm. It will soon pass away,” she said, 
and with a sad smile she tried to still the alarm of 
her anxious relatives. 

“I should like to see this gifted young woman,” 
she said, after regaining her composure. “Do you 
think you could induce her to call upon me here? I 
do not want to go to that bindery ; and if she is as 
proud and independent as you say, it might wound 
her feelings to have me go unannounced, and with- 
out an introduction, to her boarding-house.” 

“I will see her when I make a selection of these 
drawings for purchase, and try and induce her to 
visit you,” said Mr. Legare. 

“Take them all, dear father. They are really 
very, very fine,” cried Frank, who had been look- 
ing them over with unwonted attention for him. 
“Here is a gem — it is sarcastic, but so true. A fop- 
pishly-dressed fellow is leaving his seat in the car, 
and handing a well-dressed lady into it, while a 
poor old woman on crutches stands close by. She 
has eyes, that girl ha‘=!, and knows how to use them. 
If I were in your place, father, and had infiuence 
with her, I should get her to make art her prof es- 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


99 


sion. One who draws so well would soon take to 
color, even if she has not already tried it.’^ 

“I’ll warrant she paints,” said Lizzie, rather 
satirically, looking at her brother to see if he would 
feel the shaft. 

“Not in the sense you mean,” he said, indig- 
nantly. “It takes the daughters of rich fathers to 
use cosmetics and other necessary articles to en- 
hance their beauty. The poor toiler gets her color 
from exercise and honorable labor.” 

“Well met, my little lady. Frank rather had you 
there,” said Mr. Legare, laughing. 

“Oh, yes, papa, you’ll side with him, because you 
think so much of her. You’d better change me off 
for her,” cried Lizzie, angrily, and then she fell to 
weeping. 

As I heard a Western man say, “that was her best 
hold;” she always conquered with it. 

“Dear child, do not be so silly. No one wishes to 
supplant you. And I am sure your brother had no 
wish to wound your feelings,” said Mr. Legare, ten- 
d*^Tly. 

“No, indeed, sis, not a thought of it. If it will 
make you feel any easier in your mind. I’ll vuw 
that I believe this low-born beauty paints and pow- 
ders, too.” 

“How do we know she is low-born?” asked Mrs. 
Emory, gravely, but kindly. “Her education and 
gifts— her very genius would speak to the contrary. 
Many a well-born person, by a sudden change of 
fortune, has been reduced to labor. And I, for one, 
do not consider labor dishonorabloc It is hard fco be 
forced to toil for one’s daily bread, if one has to 
come to it from affluence, but it is not evil. It must 


100 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


be very inconvenient to be poor; but surely in a 
grand republic like this it is not a disgrace/’ 

“Huzza for Aunt Louisa ! That’s my philosophy, 
too,” cried Frank. 

Lizzie laughed. She couldn’t cry over three min- 
utes at a time, and then smiles followed, just as the 
sunlight comes after an April shower. 

“Your Aunt Louisa always takes a sensible view 
of things, my dear children, and though she makes 
no boasts of it, I dare say few persons more often 
extend the full hand of Christian charity.” 

“That’s the hand to play,” cried Frank, thinking 
of his last rubber of whist at the club-room. 

“The hand which helps us forward on the road to 
Heaven,” said his father in a grave tone. “And I 
wish my dear children to feel that while they are 
living in luxury, knowing no sorrow or grief but 
what in imagination they make for themselves, 
heavy hearts, and fainting spirits are all around 
them. That kind words, followed by kindly deeds, 
will brighten their way as they go onward and up- 
ward in life, even as I feel that such things are 
softening my descent toward the grave.” 

Both son and daughter drew near their good old 
father, and kissed him reverently. His words had 
fallen on their hearts at the right moment. 

“Forgive me, papa, because I spoke slightingly of 
the poor girl in whom you have justly taken such 
an interest. If she comes here to see Aunt Louisa, 
I will treat her just as well as I would my dearest 
school-mate or best friend.” 

“There spoke my own blessed girl,” said Mr. Le- 
gare, proudly. “Your heart is in the right place, 
little one, though we have petted you-so much that 
you forget it sometimes. ” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


101 


^^Sis, you’re a trump — that’s what you are. And I 
love you — just bet all you have I do.” 

‘‘Frank, I know you love me — but ’there is that 
lunch-bell again. Come, Aunt Louisa, I ordered 
oyster patties, because I know you like them so.” 

“And we’ve a brace of partridges, father, that Eg- 
bert Tripp sent down from Ulster County to me, and^ 
I told the cook to lard them with bacon and broil 
them brown for you,” added Frank. 

“They’re good children, Louisa — a little spoiled, 
but at heart real good children,” said the proud fa- 
ther, as he offered his sister-in-law his arm. 

“It is true, brother, and I love my niece and 
nephew dearly,” said Mrs. Emory. “They make my 
visits here very pleasant. It would be a dreary 
world to me were it not for you and them.” 

“Forward two!” cried Frank, as he clasped Liz- 
zie around the waist and waltzed into the lunch- 


room. 


102 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

JESSIE ALBEMARLE. 

' ‘^Miss Hattie,'*’ said Mr. W , just as the people 

were leaving work, and she was rising from her 
table, “please put this letter in your pocket, read it 
after you have had your supper, and think over its 
contents. Do not hurry your thoughts — I will wait 
patiently for an answer after you have well con- 
sidered what I have written. Let days pass, if you 
choose, I will not urge a reply ; I only ask it after 
you have given the matter thought.” 

She looked up at him with her earnest, truthful 
eyes, for she noticed that his voice trembled, and 
almost intuitively she felt that that letter contained 
a declaration of what his eyes seemed to speak when 
they met her look — love. 

She put the letter in her pocket without a word. 
She could not have spoken at that moment. For, 
noticing his agitation, a strange tremor came over 
her. 

He turned, blushing, and went toward his office, 
while she, putting on her hat and sha^vl, turned 
toward the door. At that moment she saw the 

stately form of Mr. Legare in front of Mr. W- , and 

the foreman had scarcely spoken to him when Mr. 
W called to her. 

The millionaire had come* in person to see the poor 
working girl— to hear her decision, and to ask of 
her a favor. 

“Miss Butler, excuse me that I called at this hour. 
I knew you would be disengaged, and perhaps 
could do me a great favor if it is not already done 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


103 


by your consenting to the adoption which I had the 
honor to propose through Mr. W 

^‘Gratefully, Mr. Legare, I have declined that 

proposition in an interview held with Mr. W at 

my boarding-house last evening.’^ 

“Yet, my good young friend, you have never met 
the lady who would take you to her home and 
heart. She is one of the purest, noblest women on 
earth. -The sister of ipy dear, dead wife. I have 
known her those long, long years, and I never met 
her equal. Her heart is full of sweet sympathies, 
pure charities, and ennobling thoughts. 

“I do not doubt her goodness, sir. Her offer, 
through you, proves it. The poor working girl 
thanks her from the bottom of her heart. But this 
adoption cannot be^ Alone I have toiled on for al- 
most three dong, tp me, very long years. Alone I 
must continue to tread lifers pathway. I am con- 
tented. Why, then, ask me to change? There are 
thousands upon thousands just as worthy as I, and 
more needy, upon whom such a noble boon can be 
conferred. Let your good sister-in-law look for 
such a one.” 

Hattie Butler spoke so earnestly that the two gen- 
tlemen deeply felt her appeal. They knew that she 
alone had the right to choose. But Mr. Legare did 
not yet despair of carrying his point. He had yet 
another angle of attack. 

“ I have received your portfolio of drawings, am 
delighted with them, and shall take them at your 
own price,” he continued. 

“I set no value on them. They surely are worth 
but little more than the paper they are drawn on. 
They are the result of lazy moments, not spent at 
work or in study.” 


104 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


‘‘To me they are worth one thousand dollars in 
gold, and my check is ready for your acceptance, 
if the. price will suit you.” 

“One thousand dollars?” gasped Hattie, utterly 
taken by surprise. “One thousand dollars in gold?” 

“Yes, Miss Butler. I am serious. I want the 
drawings — all are good, and some of them are gems. 
The street-car scene esuecially, and the little 
sweeper on the crossing. » My soli and daughter 
went into ecstasies over *them. By the way, my 
daughter is in my carriage now, down on the street, 
and wishes to see you. She and I have a great fa- 
vor to ask of you, and Mr. W is included in it.” 

“Please tell me^what it is, sir. The supper hour 
once over in my boarding-hotise, and I miss the 
meal altogether, and it will be supper time now be- 
fore I can reach there.” 

“You will not miss your supper if you do me the 
favor I ask. It is this: That, even as you are, in 
your neat working-dress, of which no lady need be 
ashamed, you ride home with me and my daughter, 
see my sister-in-law, take a plain family tea with 

us, Mr. W included, and then let me drive you 

home to your boarding-house. Don’t say no before I 
finish. My dear sister-in-law, almost an invalid, has 
expressed a strangely nervous desire to see you, if 
only for a few moments, before she sleeps. You will 
perhaps save her from a fit of sickness if you go. 
My daughter came with me to plead for her poor 
aunt. ” 

Hattie paused a moment to think. Hot of her 
dress, but whether it would be right to refuse under 
such circumstances. ^ Hot of the thousand dollar 
check waiting for her, but whether it would be 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


105 


proper for a poor, friendless working girl* to thus ac- 
cept the hospitality of the rich. 

She did not hesitate long. The picture of that 
poor nervous lady waiting and anxious just to see 
her arose in her mind, and she said : 

‘T will go, Mr. Legare, on two conditions. First, 
tliat you will drive past my boarding-house, so that 
I can leave word where I am going; next, that you 
will permit me to make my stay very brief at your 
house. Miss Scrimp, where I board, locks her doors 
at ten o’clock. I have boarded with her over two 
years, and have never been out of the house before 
after dark.” 

“The conditions are agreed to. Mr. W shall 

see you safely home in my carriage by^nine o’clock 
or half -past at latest. Now, come down and see my 
daughter, Lizzie, who waits to greet you.” 

Hattie followed Mr. Legare, and Mr. W , full 

of surprise, followed both. He had never reached 
the entree of that wealth-adorned house, though he 
had met young Lega :e at his club. 

At the carriage Mr. Legare called “Lizzie,” and 
the sweet facp of the young girl beamed out like 
that of a cherub, when, on Hattie being presented, 
she said : 

“Jump right in here on the seat by my side, dear 
Miss Butler. Papa has talked so much about you 
that it seems as if I had known you ever so long.” 

And when Hattie stepped in the little girl threw 
her arms around her with all the fervor of sweet 
sixteen, and kissed her. 

Hattie could but respond to such a welcome, and 
she returned the salute. 

* Mr. Legare seated Mr. W on the front seat, 

and then sat beside him, and when the number of 


106 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


Miss Scrimp’s house was given, the driver started 
for it at a sweeping trot. 

‘'Aunt Louisa will be so glad to see you, you good, 
dear beauty I” said Lizzie, clasping Hattie’s hand in 
hers. “We have been looking your drawings over 
*and over, and there is one face there on which she 
! dwells all the time. She says it fairly haunts her, 
and she wants to know if it is a portrait.” 

“I cannot tell till I see it myself I” said Hattie. 

The next moment the carriage had come to a halt. 
In less than live minutes it had passed over the 
space which Hattie could not walk inside of twenty 
minutes. And she ever went quickly on, heeding 
nothing on her route. 

“I will go to the door myself, and explain to Miss 
Scrimp,” said Hattie. “It will not take me a half 
minute.” 

The footman opened the carriage door. Mr. Le- 
gare himself handed Hattie out, and she ran to the 
door, and rung a startling peal on the old bell. 

Miss Scrimp, unused to such a peal, came herself 
to the door instead of sending Little Jessie, and to 
her Hattie only said : 

“I am going up town on a special errand with Mr. 
Legare and his daughter. I will need no supper 
when I come back, which will be before ten 
o’clock!” 

Before the astonished Miss Scrimp could ask a 
single question her fair boarder darted away, en- 
tered the gorgeous carriage, where the old spinster 
saw a richly-dressed young lady and two gentle- 
men, the footman closed the door and sprang to his 
place, and the noble horses dashed forward, and in 
a second more were out of sight. 

All the old maid said then was: 


’ BEAUTIFUL BUT rOOB. 


107 


‘‘Sakes alive!” 

And this she said as she went in and slammed the 
door. 

I'n the meantime the carriage swept on up through 
the wide streets of the upper part of the city — 
streets so different from the narrow, busy thorough- 1 
fares below, or down town — and in a little more 
than half an hour, passed in cheery talk, mostly * 
kept up by Lizzie Legare, it drew up before a mar- 
ble mansion on the finest avenue in the great city. 

“Here ^e are at home!” cried Mr. Legare, as the 
carriage door flew open, “and there is my duar son, 
Frank, to welcome us. Frank, my boy, this is Miss 
Butler. Mr. W you already know.” 

Frank bowed most respectfully to Hattie, as he 
extended his hand to help her from the carriage, 
and he cast a mischievous glance at Lizzie, as the 
latter sprang out, and taking Hattie’s arm as if she 
were a dear old friend, drew her up the steps, say- 
ing; 

“We’ll run to my room, dear, to take off our 
things and dash some water in our faces before 
tea.” 

And when Hattie came down to tea with Lizzie, 
just ten minutes later, her beautiful hair was all 
down over her shoulders, and a real lace collarette 
was around her neck, and she looked, even in her 
plain calico dress, as beautiful as beautiful could 
be ; and Lizzie had kissed her twenty times when 
she was helping her to make her brief toilet. 

At the tea-table Hattie was introduced to Mrs. 
Emory, whose long, yearning look fairly entered 
her soul. It seemed as if in Hattie she sought to 
find some favorite resemblance, so eagerly did she 
scan her face and form. She said: 


108 


JiEAUTlFUL J3UT POOR 


have heard so much of you, and seen such tal- 
ent exhibited in your drawings, Miss Butler, that I 
felt as if I could not sleep till I had seen you. Do 
not think me impertinent or intrusive. You look 
so good, so pure, so gentle, I know you will forgive 
me.’’ 

‘‘I am sure there is nothing to forgive. I was only 
too happy to come when they told me you were par- 
tially an invalid, and I could do you good by com- 
ing.” 

‘‘Bless you, dear child! bless you for it! After 
tea we will look at your drawings ; there is one es- 
pecially I wish to know all about.” 

ISTothing more of any special interest was said 
until tea'was over, and then they all adjourned to 
the library to look over the drawings. ^ 

“Whose picture is this?— or is it a fancy sketch 
instead of a portrait?” asked Mrs. Emory of Hattie, 
laying her finger on the. head of a young girl that 
was spoken of before in this story. 

“That? Why, it is the portrait of Little Jessie 
Albemarle,” said Hattie. 

A deathly pallor came quicker than thought over 
Mrs. Emory’s face. She gasped out, “Jessie Albe- 
marle!” and fainted. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


109 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE RIDE HOME. 

A scream of terror broke from Lizzie^s lips when 
she saw her aunt fall back fainting, but she did not 
know the cause. Neither did Prank or Mr. Legare. 

Not even had Mr. W , who sat talking with 

Frank, heard her repeat the name: “Jessie- Albe- 
marle.’’ 

Only Hattie Butler had heard it, and seen that 
her agitation commenced only when told who the 
likeness had been taken from-, and though a light- 
ning flash could not have passed quicker than a cer- 
tain thought crossed her mind, she dare not utter it 
then or there. 

’‘Quick, some water!” she cried, retaining her 
presence of mind perfectly, as she held the head of 
the swooning lady on her bosom, “and some cologne 
— hartshorn — anything pungent. She has fainted!” 

“Frank, run for our family doctor, quick ! He lives 
but a block away. Go yourself — don’t send a ser- 
vant!” cried Mr. Legare, and he hurried to get iced 
water from a pitcher in the room; while Lizzie ran 
to her room after cologne and ammonia. 

But the swoon seemed*so death-like that Hattie 
was alarmed. She began to fear that it was death. 
She forced a little water between the white lips, and 
bathed the good lady’s temples with cologne, while 
by her directions Lizzie put ammonia on her hand- 
kerchief and held it under her nostrils. 

When the doctor arrived, in less than ten minutes, 
these active efforts had barely produced a tremulous 
sign of life. 


no 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


'‘Let her be conveyed instantly to bed was tbe 
doctor’s first order. “It is one of ber old nervous 
spasms, and they grow dangerous. Sbe must re- 
main perfectly quiet, free from all excitement, when 
she is restored to consciousnes. Sbe will soon come 
to. The color is coming back to her cheeks.” 

Mrs. Emory was carried to a chamber on the same 
floor, and Lizzie and Hattie prepared her for rest, 
not allowing a servant to come near, and then Hat- 
tie, fearing she would be questioned by the invalid, 
before others, when it might not really be the wish 
of Mrs. Emory, expressed a wish to go home, saying 
she would come again should Mrs. Emory desire it. 
She would not reach her boarding-house, as it was, 
much before ten o’clock. 

“You’ll come to see me again, will you not, dear? 
For I do love you so!” said Lizzie, when Mr. Legare 
ordered his carriage to the door to take Hattie to 
her boarding-house. 

“Yes~I hope so. I wish I had a fit place to re- 
ceive your visits in, but I fear you would be ashamed 
of me in my little bedroom.” 

“No, no, now that I know you, I wouldn’t be 
ashamed of you anywhere. I’ll go to the bindery to 
see you, if Mr. W will permit visitors there.” ' 

And Lizzie looked appqalingly at him. 

“I surely shall ever be glad to see you at the bind- 
ery, and Miss Hattie will not be chided for any time 
she spends with you, either here or there, nor will 
her salary be lessened.” 

“Oh, you good soul ! Frank always said you were i 
one of nature’s noblemen,” cried the impulsive girl. 

“I thank Frank for his good words” said Mr. 
W , laughing, yet blushing at the same time. 

The doctor came down just before Hattie started, 


JBEAUJ'IFUL BUT POOR, 


111 


and said Mrs. Emory was better, but very weak. 
She begged that Miss Butler would come and see 
her on the afternoon of to-morrow, when she hoped 
she would be well ; at least able to sit up and re- 
,ceive her. She was much afflicted with the palpiia- 
f tion of the heart, and this now followed her faint- 
ing spell. 

I Hattie, told by Mr. W that she could have all 

the time she wished, sent word to Mrs. Emory that 
she would come, and now, escorted by Frank, Lizzie 
and their father, she went down to the carriage. 

Mr. W accompanied, for he was to see her safely 

to her boarding-house, and then ride home in the 
carriage. 

A kind good-night from all of the tegares went 
with the poor working girl, and it seemed as if they 
really regarded her visit as a favor, though through 
the sudden illness of Mrs. Emory it had iiurned out 
sadly. 

Mr. W was silent and thoughtful during the 

brief time taken by the swift horses to draw the car- 
riage to Miss Scrimp’s door. Without a doubt his 
mind was upon the letter then in Hattie’s pocket, 
and what might be her answer. 

She was thinking of Mrs. Emory, and what had 
caused her sudden pallor and terrible agitation, re- 
sulting in a swoon at the mere mention of the name 
of poor little Jessie Albemarle. Could it be that a 
brighter future was about to dawn for the poor little 
bound girl? 

Ten strokes of the great clock bell on St. Paul’s, 
echoed all over the city by other clocks, told Hattie 
Butler that the hour for closing was up, just as the 
carriage stopped in front of Miss Scrimp’s door. 

Hattie did not know that Miss Scrimp had been 


112 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FOOB. 


waiting and watching at that door for almost an 
hour, peeping through the crack, for it was not 
quite closed, to see how and with whom she would 
return. But this was a fact. , And when the street 
lamp close by shone on the grand carriage and 
noble horses, with their gold-mounted harness. Miss 
Scrimp saw, with envy rankling in her heart, the 
tall footman leap down and open the carriage door, 

and Mr. W , even him on whom she had bent 

longing thoughts, hand Hattie Butler out with his 
gloved hands, as daintily as if she were a princess 
and he a Jord in waiting. 

There was a courteous ^‘good-night’’ passed be- 
tween Hattie and her escort, then he sprang into 
the carriage, and it was driven off, while Hattie ran 
lightly up the old stone steps in front of the house 
and laid her hand on the bell-pull. 

“Oh, you needn’t yank at that bell!” cried Miss 
Scrimp, throwing the door open. “It’s after hours, 
but I was up, and a- waitin’ for you!” 

“You did not have to wait long. Miss Scrimp. Not 
half the city clocks are yet done striking ten. I may 
be thirty seconds late by the City Hall !” 

“Long enough, in a chilly night like this. Where 
have you been?” 

“You have no right to ask. Miss Scrimp. But hav- 
ing nothing to conceal, I will reply— to Mr. Legare’s, 
on Fifth-avenue.” 

“Sakes alive What did them grand folks want 
of you?” 

“To take tea with them, and to purchase a few 
drawings of mine for a thousand dollars!” said Hat- 
tie, well knowing this last stroke would almost an- 
nihilate Miss Scrimp. 

“Sakes alive! you’re joking!” screamed Miss 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


113 


Scrimp, snatching up the hand-lamp she had left on 
the hall table. 

“Does that look like a joke?” asked Hattie, and 
she placed the thousand-dollar check which Mr. Le- 
gare had handed to her after tea, right under Miss 
Scrimp’s cross-eyes. 

“Mercy on me I You'll never go to the bindery no 
more, will you?” 

“Yes, I shall go there to my work in the morning, 
just as I always do,” said Hattie, and she was off up 
stairs before Miss Scrimp could ask another ques- 
tion. 

“Well, well! Wonders will never stop a-comin' !” 
ejaculated Miss Scrimp. “If I hadn't seen her go in 
the carriage and come in the carriage, and. seen Mr. 

W help her out^ I wouldn't have believed my 

eyes. One thousand dollars — in a real check, too — I 
knew it soon as I saw it. Aren't I dreamin'?” 

She actually bit her finger to see if she was awake 
or not. 

Then she sighed. 

“It's luck. Some people are always havin' luck,” 
she said. “Here have I been a-makin' and a-savin', 
a-scrimpin' and a-studyin' all the time for forty years 
. or more, and I haven't had a bit o' luck. It's all 
been hard, stupid work. And that baby-faced thing 
will jump right into a fortune. I'll bet, and like as 
not marry that handsome book -bindery man right 
before my face and eyes. Sakes alive! it chokes me 
to think of it. If I wasn't afraid of what might hap- 
pen I'd spoil her beauty for her. I'd put arsenic 
into her tea, or pison her some way. She a-ridin' 
around with my man; that ought to be, in a car- 
riage, while I stand here a-shiverin' like a thief in a 
corner a-waitin' for her, But I mustn't make her 


Hi 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


mad. She has got a thousand dollars, and I’ll raise 
on her board, and make her come down, too. She 
can afford it, and she shall.” 

Miss Scrimp said this vehemently, and then shuf- 
fled up stairs to her own room. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB, 


115 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE OFFER REFUSED. 

All was still in the house when Hattie climbed up 
those long and dreary stairs, for tired working girls 
go to sleep early and sleep soundly. 

They know the day must not dawn on their closed 
eyes, but they must be up, wash, eat, and off to la- 
bor before the sun from its eastern up-lift gilds the 
city spires. 

Hattie entered her room, set her lamp alight, 
took off her things, and sat down by her bedside to 
think. 

She took the letter from her pocket which Mr. 

W had given her at the bindery, and put it 

down on the table, unopened, and there it lay for 
full a quarter of an hour, while she was lost in her 
meditation. 

And yet men say a woman is made up of cu- 
riosity. And that is all men know about it. They 
can say so, but it doesn’t make it so. 

At last she took up the letter, looked again at her 
name written in a bold, handsome hand on a busi- 
ness envelope of the firm, and then she broke the 
seal. 

The color came and went in her face, showing sur- 
prise, agitation, and even pain, while she read it. 
That we may understand her feelings it may be as 
well to give the letter place here. It ran thus : 

‘‘Miss Hattie: — I feel embarrassed, hardly know- 
ing how to frame words to express a desire, a hope, 
and a fear. 


116 


JSMUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


“The desire is, in all sincerity, honor, truth, and 
tenderness, to possess you as my wife— the holiest 
relationship known on earth. 

“The hope is that you will listen to and recipro- 
cate a love which I believe to be pure and unselfish — 
a love based on your merits rather than your trans- 
cendent beauty — a love, which, though fervent, will 
be, I am sure, lasting as my life. 

“A fear that 1 am not worthy of the boon I ask — 
your love and hand — or, alas for me if it prove so, 
that young as you are, some one else has already 
gained tlte heart which I would give worlds, were 
they mine, to claim as my own, all my own. 

“Can you respond favorably to this petition? I 
ask no speedy answer. I will press no unwelcome 
suit. Come and go as you always do, bringing 
brightness when I see you, leaving a void in my 
eyes, but not in my heart, as you pass out, and when 
you feel that you can answer me do so, confident 
that I shall ever love you. I shall never presume to 
press one word on your ear which shall bring a 
frown on the face so dear to me. God bless you, 
Miss Hattie, and may He turn your heart to thoughts 
of your sincere friend, E. W 

For a love-letter, it was a model. I say so, and I 
ought to know, for, young as I am, IVe got a waste- 
basket half full of them. 

Tears started in Hattie’s eyes as she carefully re- 
folded the letter and restored it to the envelope. 

“He is a true and a noble man,” she said. “A 
gentleman in every sense. But I cannot return his 
love. How can I say so and not wound his generous 
and sensitive nature? I must think of it — I must ask 
advice and aid from that unfailing source which 
never will bid me do wrong.” 

And the pure, sweet girl knelt by her humble bed 
in silent prayer. Then she arose, her heart lighter, 
her eyes bright with new inspiration. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT TO OB. 


Ill 


She drew up to her table, opened a small portable 
writing-desk, and rapidly wrote these words : 

‘‘Mr. W : — Esteemed and Valued Friend, The 

desire you express can never be gratified, because, 
while feeling your worth, knowing how good and 
truthful you are, I know in heart I cannot harbor 
the love which would be a just return for that which 
you feel and offer. It will make me very unhappy 
to think I sadden your bright life in any way. Try 
to forget love in the friendship I shall ever feel so 
proud and happy to possess. 

“With sympathy and sincerity, I am your humble 
friend, Hat he Butler.’' 

She bowed her head and wept after she had sealed 
and dirceted her letter, for she felt sorrow in her 
soul that her answer must pain so warm a heart. 

Then she knelt again in silent prayer, read, as she 
ever did, a chapter in the revealed word of God, and 
then lay down to the rest which innocence alone can 
enjoy— that quiet, dreamless rest which gives new 
life to the body and the soul. 

And thus we will leave her, while for a time and 
for a reason we fly far away on the swift wings of 
fancy to a different— a far different scene. 


118 


BEAUTIFUL BUT TOOB. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

SCENE IN THE YCSEMITE. 

Not in all California— not even in the grandly 
glorious valley among the cliffs and gorges of the 
famed Yosemite, can be found a wilder scene than 
that exhibited where the Feather River breaks in 
furious haste through an awful chasm in the Sierra 
Nevada. A friend, a dear friend, who mined there 
for years, has described it over and over, and talked 
to me about it till I can hear the eternal roar of the 
white waters, feel the very cliffs shake with the dizzy 
dash and whirl of its cataracts — look down on the 
eddies where gold, washed from the veins above 
which may never be reached by mortal hand, has 
been accumulating for centuries. 

While our fair heroine was sleeping, taking the 
rest which nature needed, in a small log cabin on a 
little shelf of rock and ground just above where the 
Feather River broke in wild grandeur through the 
gorge, before a fire n.ade from the limbs of trees 
cast on shore by the torrent in a whirling eddy just 
below, a young man sat, with a weary look on his 
fine, intellectual face, looking into the fire. 

Mining tools — a pick, shovels, crowbars, and hose 
— crucibles also, empty and full flasks of quicksilver, 
with many other signs, told that this man, young 
and slender, and not well fitted for toil, was a 
searcher for the gold with which those eternal hills, 
that rushing stream, are literally stocked. 

Fishing-rods and tackle, a double-barreled shot- 
gun, and a repeating-ritte stood in one corner of the 
cabin, showing that in the water and among the 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


119 


hills the young man was prepared to find the food 
which is so plentiful there, and was not dependent 
on the far-away stores of Oroville, Marysville, or 
Sacramento, from which many of the miners drew 
supplies. 

Though this man was young— not over five-and- 
twenty years of age— there was a weary look in his 
pale, handsome face, which made him look older. 
Light-brown hair curled in heavy masses on his 
shapely head and fell far down on his shoulders, and 
his beard, a soft, silken brown, not heavy, but long, 
told that no tonsorial hand had touched it for many 
months. 

‘Tt will be three years to-morrow,’’ he said. 
‘‘Three years to-morrow since I looked upon her in 
her glorious pride and beauty — three years to-mor- 
row since the hour when, madly disgraced by my 
own folly and the wild passion for strong drink, 
which has ruined millions of better men than I, I 
stood before her to hear my sentence, to be told to 
go from her presence and never t") return till she re- 
called me, which she would only v:hen she knew 
I had forever conquered an appetite that had de- 
based my manhood and froze ait tL. love she had 
given me — a love, oh, so precious, so priceless, so 
pure ! 

“Wild with rao*'^ and disappointment, I tore my- 
self away an'-’’ fied with th^ adventurous throng to 
this El Dorado, but I dared not stav where men were 
and strong drink abound ^d. I wandered on and on 
until I could go no farther, and here, the highest 
claim upon this mad river, I fixed my home. Here 
have I toile^ month after month, year after year, 
increasing my golden store slowly and surely, but, 
best of all, conquering that base appetite which lost 


120 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


heaven on earth for me, when its gates were wide 
open. 

“No beverage but that sparkling drink, which the 
hand of the Father gives to man for his good, has 
passed my lips for these three long years— water, 
blessed water, has strengthened my brain and given 
health to my body. 

“And now, confident in myself, I would go back 
and redeem my errors — go back to claim the hand 
which had long, long ago been mine but for mine 
own sin. Why will she not bid me come? I have 
written three times, and have told her I am free 
from the chains of the demon now; that I have 
wealth enough to satisfy all reasonable desire, and 
she has only written : ‘It is not time — perhaps you do 
not yet know yourself. ’ 

“Ah! could she but see me in this solitude— ^ere 
where I have lived alone so long — not a visitor, for I 
have kept my claim . and home a secret when I went 
to the nearest post station, and no one has ever dared 
to pass the chasm below, which cuts off this last 
habitable spot in the gorge. They have not learned 
my secret, or they might come, for the greed for 
gold makes men dare all dangers. 

“The sketch I sent her she received. Here is the 
single line she sent in answer : 

“ ‘The picture of your “Home’’ is here. God 
help the lone one to keep his promises.’ ” 

And the young man wept over the letters he held 
in his hand. At last he aroused himself. 

“Once more I will write to her,” he said; “I will 
tell her how, apart from all men, visited by none — 
for none can reach me till they know the secret of 
my path— I have worked and waited, waited and 
worked. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR 


121 


' “Once every three months I go out to carry the 
gold I have gathered, and to place it where it will 
not only be safe but draw an interest that adds to it 
all the time. And once every three months I tread 
streets where temptation glitters on every side of 
me ; yet I turn from it all with loathing, and hurry 
back "to my solitude, where my only company is a 
memory, ever present, ever dear, of her. 

“To-morrow I shall go again, and the deposit I 
carry now will make my all— full three hundred 
thousand dollars. I should be satisfied, but what 
else can I do till I am recalled? Work keeps down 
sad thoughts ; work keeps hope alive ; work gives 
me life and strength to wait.” 

He drew up to a rough table made of slabs hewed 
out by himself, took writing materials from a shelf 
overhead, and for a long time wrote steadily. 

He was explaining all his life to her — all his life 
in those dreary hills, and praying that she would bid 
him come back to her with a renewed and nobler 
life, chastened by toil and thought, made pure by 
temperance in its most severe demands. 

At last his letter was finished,- folded, enveloped, 
and then he drew from his finger a massive ring 
with a sapphire in the set. Deeply engraved in the 
stone was the symbol — two hearts pierced with an 
arrow. 

Dropping the red wax, which he had lighted at the 
candle, on his letter, he impressed the seal, and it 
was ready for its far away journey. 

]s[ow— long after inidnight— he threw himself 
down on his blankets to sleep. 


122 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

FRANK’S TALK WITH HIS SISTER. 

‘^Sister Lizzie, I want to talk to you. It is not your 
regular bed time by an hour or more yet. Can you 
be real steady, and thoughtful, and loving, for just 
a little while?” 

“I can try, dear Brother Frank. If I fail, why, 
scold me,” said sweet Lizzie Legare, as she went 
arm-in-arm with her brother back into the house, 

after having seen Hattie and Mr. W off in the 

carriage. 

“Well, we will go to your boudoir, Lizzie. I want 
to see you alone and to ask your advice.” 

So they went to the little gem of a room, carpeted 
in velvet, with flowers in every corner, curtains of 
lace, chairs, ottomans, and a tete-a-tete all covered 
with damask silk, and there they sat down, and 
Frank commenced with a sigh — a long and heavy 
sigh, and such a woe-begone look that Lizzie de- 
murely asked : 

“Are you sick, dear brother?” 

“No, but I'm worse off, Lizzie. I’m in love!” 

“So am 1.” 

“I’m in love with Hattie Butler!* There now!” 

“So am I. There now!” and Lizzie laughed till 
tears ran from her eyes, for she had imitated his 
desperate “there now” like an echo. 

“It isn’t anything to laugh' at. I never was more 
serious in my life,” he said, rather tartly, for he 
thought she was making fun of him. 

“Well, brother, you know I must either laugh or 
cry all the time. But, seriously, if I was you I could 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


123 


not help loving that sweet, beautiful girl, and I be- 
lieve that, like you, I would forget that she was a 
poor working girl. But, brother, what would the 
fellows in your club, the fast, nobby fellows you are 
always talking to me about, say if you married a 
shop-girl?’’ 

Frank answered with a shiver— not a word did he 
speak. But he kept up a terrible thinking, and 
Lizzie sat still and watched him. 

At last he sprang to his feet. 

“The follows in the club can go to Halifax or any- 
where else they want to. If she’ll have me, and 
father will consent. I’ll marry her inside of a week.” 

“Inside of a church would be better, brother dear. 
But those two provisos were well put in — the first es- 
pecially. When a gentleman wants to marry one 
of our sex, the first and most necessary thing to find 
out is will she have him. And I don’t believe you 
have given her the first hint on the subject.” 

“Ho,” said Frank. 

“Hor even taken the trouble to find out whether 
she either admires or cares in the least for you?” 
continued Lizzie. 

“That’s a fact.” 

•And Frank sighed while he made the admission. 

“Don’t you think a little courting:, as they call it, 
in this case would be advisable before you talk of 
marrying a girl whom you have seen but twice in 
your life?” 

“Sis, you are a philosopher in petticoats.” 

“Oh, Frank, aren’t you ashamed to say so.” 

“Ho, sister, for it is the truth. You are, learning 
me to be reasonable in this matter, and I thank you 
for it. It proves the truth of the old adage that two 
heads are better than one.” 


124 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH, 


one is a sheep’s head. Why didn’t you quote 
the entire saying, Frank?” 

‘ 'Because my little sister has a wise head, and 
though I often tease her in my carelessness, I al- 
ways go to her for advice when I can’t see my own 
way clear. I shall go to bed, darling, with a cooler 
brain and a lighter heart, and if Miss Butler comes 
often to our house to see Aunt Louisa, I’ll do just 
the prettiest little bit of courting that you ever saw 
done.” 

"Good! It will be like a play to me. ” • 

"Good-night, dear Lizzie.” 

"Good-night, my darling brother.” 

And thus for the night they parted. 

Frank went into the library to ask the doctor, who 
was there with his father, how his Aunt Louisa was 
doing. 

He learned that she was better, and sleeping 
under the influence of an opiate. The doctor asked 
of him, as he just had inquired of his father, whether 
anything had occurred to particularly excite or 
agitate Mrs. Emory when her attack came on. 

But, as we know, neither father nor son had 
taken notice of what she was doing or saying at 
the time, the scream from Lizzie’s lips," and the ex- 
clamation from Miss Butler, being the flrst warning 
that they had when the lady fainted. 

"I will be here early in the morning,” said the 
doctor, as he arose to take his leave. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


125 


CHAPTER XXVi: 

‘it is as I FEARED.” 

When Hattie Butler went down to her breakfast 
next morning she studied the features of little Jessie 
Ajbemarle as closely as she could while the girl was 
flitting to and fro, carrying coffee to the boarders 
and attending to her duties. And once, when she 
was close to her, she spoke to Jessie, and got a fair 
look into her bright, brown, or hazel eyes. She was 
almost startled when she did so, for she saw, sure 
she saw, there a resemblance, a very marked and 
strong resemblance, to the kind, loving eyes which 
had greeted her the evening before at the house of 
Mr. Legare, and whicTi had closed so suddenly in that 
death-like swoon when the name of “Jessie Albe- 
marle’’ was spoken. 

While she was thinking of this, and what possi- 
bilities might yet be in store for the poor, ill-treated 
bound girl. Miss Scrimp opened her batteries on our 
heroine. 

“Miss Hattie,” she said, “I’va been thinking of 
changing my room down to this floor. There’s the 
little alcove off the parlor, plenty large enough for a 
bed for me, and my room has such a good light from 
the east, you can almost feel day when it dawns, 
and it would save you such a long journey up stairs. 
I’ll only charge you a dollar a week more if you 
take it. What do you say about it?” 

“Only this. Miss Scrimp, that I am very well con- 
tented where I am, and that I would much rather 
pay my extra dollar toward getting you the silk dress 
which Miss Kate spoke of yesterday, and which I 


126 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


am sure you deserve for the great improvements you 
have made in your table.’’ 

“That’s the talk,” cried Kate, from her seat. ^‘I’ll 
pay my dollar Saturday night. ’ 

“And I — and II” echoed along the table. 

Miss Scrimp was quite disarmed by the- turn that 
Hattie Butler had given to her proposition. She had 
been all ready to sneer out that “the richer some 
folks grew the meaner they got,” but our heroine 
killed the thought before it could be spoken. 

And so Hattie got off to her work at her usual hour 
without a change of rooms or a quarrel on the sub- 
ject, though Mss Scrimp had set her mind on having 
one or the other. 

The letter she had written in reply to Mr. W , 

his own inclosed in the same envelope to show him 
that she would never keep such a missive for others 
to see, even by chance, as she explained in a few 
well-chosen words on the back of it, was in her 
pocket, and she had made up her mind to give it to 
him, unseen in his office, when she could make 
some excuse for going there. 

She arrived at .the bindery at her u«!ual hour, and 
went at once to her table, hardly daring to look 
around, lest he should cast his inquiring gaze upon 
her. 

She had left work unfinished there the night be- 
fore, and with a feeling of relief that she had not 

seen him when coming in— for Mr. W had, with 

manly delicacy, kept back— she went to work. 

A step startled her soon after, and a flush was on 
her face as it came near her, but the good-natured 
voice of Mr. Jones, the foreman, reassured her, and 
she answered a question of his in regard to the title 
on some finished work promptly and pleasantly. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH. 


127 


‘‘The boss,’’ thus he always alluded to Mr. W 

“don’t look well this morning. He was here very 
early — stood at the door when I came to unlock it,” 
continued Mr. Jones. “I suppose, like most young 
single men nowadays, he keeps late hours, and they 
don’t agree with him. For my part, home is dear 
to me with what is in it, the blessed wife and baby; 
so my hours are regular, my sleep sound, and my 
appetite just what it ought to be.” 

Having thus relieved his mind, Mr. Jones went on 
about his business, little thinking that Hattie Butler 

knew better than he why Mr. W did not look 

well that morning. 

For anxiety and suspense are death to sleep. 

And Hattie thought, sorrowfully, if suspense 
made him feel and look so ill, the keen arrow of 
hopeless disappointment might work even a greater 
change in his usually cheerful and happy face. 
Therefore she dreaded to hand to him the letter con- 
taining her decision, while she knew that the sooner 
it was in his hands the better it would be for both 
of them. 

Several times she looked around to see if he was 
making his usual morning tour through the shop, 
but she did not see him. In fact it was almost noon 
when she saw him come out of his office and go 
around among the work people. And she saw at a 
glance that, as Mr. Jones had said, he looked pale 
and low-spirited. 

Feeling sure that he wpuld come to her table be- 
fore long, Hattie took the letter addressed to him 
from her pocket, and laid it upon the corner of the 
table, where his eye would be sure to fall upon it the 
first thing when he approached. 

And then, with more tremor than she liked, but 


12S 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


which she could not for her life restrain, she went 
on with her task. 

It lacked but a little of the noon hour when she 
heard his well-known step close to her table. And 
she trembled when she replied to his kind salutation, 
“Good-morning, Miss Hattie.’’ 

At that instant is eye caught sight of the letter, 
and his face flushed as he said, in a low tone: 
“Heaven bless you for this quick reply,” snatched it 
up, thrust it inside his vest over his beating heart, 
and went as fast as he could go to his office. 

Hattie never was so glad to hear the signal to 
knock off work for dinner as she was then. For she 
could not keep her eyes on her work. She was think- 
ing how he must feel when he read her letter, for 
she had known what love was, and what disappoint- 
ment was, too, and she pitied him from the inmost 
depth of her woman’s heart. 

And he? Locking himself in his private office, he 
quickly opened the letter on . which he felt all his 
future life depended. With pallor on his face he 
read those words, written so kindly, yet blasting the 
brightest hope he had ever cherished. 

“It is even as I feared,” he murmured. “The flush 
in her face when I returned that sketch which she 
said had been sent to her by a dear friend, should 
have told me not to hope, had I not been too blind. 
The occupant of that wild mountain home — he who 
is pictured as kneeling there above that rushing 
river— is the happy man,. and I — I have nothing on 
earth to hope for.” 

He folded her letter in his own, pressed it to his 
lips, and, placed it in an inner pocket over his 
heart. And he sat there, silent and still, while 
tears came in his blue eyes, and yet he made no 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


129 


complaint. To him she was an angel, but, alas! 
not his angel. 

He appreciated her delicacy and her noble sense 
of honor in returning his letter, and he felt the full 
value of the friendship she offered. 

“But,” he said, “how can I, loving her as I do, 
and must — how can I see her here day after day, 
and refrain from pushing a suit which, under the 
circumstances, would be almost an insult to her? I 
cannot do it. I will go away. Father has been 
anxious for me to establish a branch of our business 
in California, and I will do it. Perhaps absence, 
and the excitement and novelty of travel, will help 
me to bear iny disappointment better, if it does not 
heal the wound inflicted so unwillingly by the 
noblest hand on earth.” 

For two. hours or more he remained there in his 
office, laying his plans and thinking what to do, and 
trying to so tone down his feelings as not to pain 
her when he went out, by a look of sorrow ; and he 
had regained entire command of himself when there 
came a hasty knock on his office door. 

He opened it to receive Frank and Lizzie Legare, 
who stood there smiling, and who entered his office 
when he as cheerfully saluted and asked them in. 


130 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 

AUNT LOUISA. 

^‘We have come after Miss Hattie Butler, Mr. 
W said Lizzie, after shaking hands with him. 

‘‘Our dear Aunt Louisa is ever so much better to- 
day, and her first wish this morning was to see her. 
But the doctor thought she had better wait until 
afternoon, until she grew stronger, and so we 
waited till after lunch, and then we had to come. 
Our aunt would give us no rest.’’ 

‘^That’s so. Do you know, Mr. W , thouech she 

has not positively said so in so many words, I be- 
lieve our good aunt means to give us a new cousin ? 
I feel sure she means to adopt Miss Hattie as her 
daughter.” 

“Hardly against the will 6f the latter, who has a 
mind of her own, and few minds stronger or better 
balanced,” said Mr. W . 

“But this morning,” said Lizzie, “when I went 
early to her bedside, she was murmuring in her 
sleep, and I heard the words, ‘my precious daughter,’ 
distinctly. And when she awoke, I knew she had 
been thinking of Miss Butler, for she asked the very 
first thing if she was in the house.” 

“That certainly bears out your idea,” said Mr. 

W . “I will go and call Miss Hattie, and you 

can state your wishes to her. She will go with you, 
I know.” 

“Lizzie, he is just one of the best fellows that ever 
lived!” cried Frank. “Isn’t it a pity he is only a 
book-binder after all?” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


131 


don’t know as that sets him back in my esti- 
mation one bit,” said Lizzie. ‘‘He is handsome, 
manly, and well-bred.” 

Frank looked at his hitherto aristocratic sister 
with eyes of open wonder. What he would have 

said had not Mr. W come in that moment with 

Hattie, we do not know, for his lips were opened to 
utter a reply when the book-binder and his fair em- 
ployee entered the office. 

Then Frank had no eyes but for the latter, no 
thought, for the moment, of any one else. 

“Dear Miss Hattie!” was all that Lizzie said, as 
she ran up to the poor bindery-girl, threw her arms 
around her neck, and kissed her again and again. 

Frank would have given his team of fast horses, 
anything he had in the world, if he could have used 
those very words and given the same salute, more 
especially if he could have got the return his sister 
did. 

But he had to content himself by shaiiing her 
hand, which he pressed quite warmly, as he said : 

“I am glad to see you looking so well to-day. Miss 
Hattie, after the fright our aunt gave you last 
night.” 

“Thank you!” said Hattie, kindly. 

But Frank noted, with some chagrin, that she did 
not return the pressure of his hand. 

“We have come to carry you home with us to see 
Aunt Louisa,” continued Lizzie. “She asked after 
you the first thing this morning, and the doctor said 
as she grew stronger to-day it would do her real 
good to have a visit from you.” 

“Then, if Mr. W can spare me, I certainly 

cannot refuse to go,” said Hattie, with a smile. 

“You certainly can be spared for such a purpose, 


132 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


Miss Hattie/’ said Mr. W . ‘‘Your time could 

not be better spent than in comforting those who 
need comfort.” 

Hattie saw the hidden meaning of those words, 
and she would have comforted him had it been in 
her power. But she had made a decision in his case 
which she could not change. 

Mr. W now escorted his visitors and Hattie 

down stairs to the carriage which waited, and when 
the two girls sat side by side there, one resplendent 
in silk, laces, and diamonds — the other in her ever 
neat, well-fitting and well-made shop dress of ten- 
cent calico, without an ornament of any kind, he 
compared them in his mind, and his heart still told 
him the shop-girl, beautiful, but poor, was superior 
to all others in the world — his heart’s first and last 
choice above all others. 

And he stood there and watched them and the car- 
riage till it turned the confer, and then he went 
back, with a weary sigh, to his business. 

As the carriage rattled on over the paved streets, 
so Lizzie’s tongue rattled, too, while Frank’s eyes 
only were busy studying out the marvelous beauty 
of the girl to whom his sister talked. 

“Do you know, dear Hattie,” said she, “that I be- 
lieve we are to be cousins — real cousins. For if 
Aunt Louisa adopts you as her daughter you will be 
my cousin — my dear, dear cousin, will you not?” 

“I fear I shall never be more than a dear and true 
friend to you. Miss Lizzie,” said Hattie, kindly, yet 
gravely. “Your aunt, perhaps, wishes to be as good 
to me as you indicate, but I can never yield to her 
kind desire.” 

“But, Hattie, darling, you don’t know her yet. 
She is so good! Never did a kinder heart throb than 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


133 


hers. She is the counterpart of my blessed mother, 
who died on earth but lives in Heaven. She has seen 
many sorrows — we know not all, for she was abroad 
with her first husband for years, and we heard 
he was a bad man. She married him against the 
will of her parents and friends, but her last husband, 
whom she married because they all wanted her to 
after the first one died, was a. very good man, and 
he left her over a million of dollars in her own right. 
We never talk with her about her first marriage. 
She does not like it. But she often speaks of Mr. 
Emory herself, and his praise never hurts her feel- 
ings. We all liked him very much.’’ 

Hattie was a good listener. She never inter- 
rupted Lizzie’s narrative with a single question. And 
a real good listener is a “rarity,” as Mr. Barnum 
said when he found the “What is it.” 

“How you will think it over, will you not, if Aunt 
Louisa proposes that you shall be her daughter, as I 
know she will?” said Lizzie, stealing her arm coax- 
ingly about Hattie’s waist. “Don’t say no, dear— 
at least not at once. For her sake soften a refusal, 
if it must come.” 

“I will do everything I can in honor and justice 
to myself to make your good, dear aunt happy,” 
said Hattie. 

“You darling! I knew you would!” 

And Lizzie, caring not a jot that they were driving 
up the Fifth avenue, passing and meeting occupied 
carriages all the time, kissed Hattie over and over 
again. 

And poor Frank sat there and saw their red lips 
meet, and he wished he could be Lizzie, if only for a 
minute. 

But the sweetest moments must have their end. 


131 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


The carriage drew up before the Legare mansion, 
and its occupants were soon within its stately walls. 

Mr. Legare met them at the door. 

“This kindness is truly gratifying, Miss Butler,’’ 
. said he to our heroine. “My sister is yet quite ner- 
vous, but the doctor is confident your visit will be a 
benefit to her. She is anxious to see you. I left her 
but a moment ago, and she sent me from her 
chamber to see if you had come. She wishes to see 
you alone for a little while. I can almost guess the 
cause of this wish, but I will not anticipate it to 
you.” 

Then, as soon as Lizzie had taken her bonnet and 
shawl, Hattie went to the chamber of Mrs. Emory. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


135 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 

AM THAT child’s MOTHER!” 

Eagerly those brown eyes looked up as Hattie en- 
tered Mrs. Emory’s chamber, and in the yearning 
look, even in the features, Hattie recognized a re- 
semblance to Jessie Albemarle. 

“Oh, thank you. Miss Butler. I am so glad you 
have come,” said Mrs. Emory, in a low, tremulous 
voice. “I have something to ask you, and then per- 
haps a long, strange story to tell you in all confi- 
dence.” 

“Your confidence, dear madam, shall not he mis- 
placed, and I will answer any question you ask, if 
it be in my power to do so.” 

“Thank you, dear, I feel that it is so. Lock the 
door, please. I do not wish to be interrupted by any 
one while we are together. Then come and sit here 
close by my side. Do not fear that I shall faint 
again. It was a sudden shock that caused it before ; 
but now I am prepared and calm.” 

Hattie locked the door, and then seated herself, 
as desired, close to Mrs. Emory. 

“You spoke a name yesterday — a name very, 
very dear to me,” said Mrs. Emory. “You see it 
here, engraved on a golden necklace, which was 
once worn by a little child.” 

Hattie started in spite of herself. Was that the 
necklace that Miss Scrimp had spoken of? For on 
it she saw the name of “Jessie Albemarle” en- 
graved. 

“You start. Hav^ you ever heard of this necklace 
or seen it before?” asked Mrs. Emory, eagerly. 


136 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


''If it was once on the neck of an infant left at 
the orphan asylum by unknown parties I have 
heard of it/’ said Hattie. 

"It was. How tell me — oh, tell me quick, if you 
know. Is that child yet living?” 

"She is, dear lady.” 

"Where— where — tell me, I implore you ! I am that 
child’s mother!” 

"I have thought so ever since I met you, dear 
lady,” said Hattie. "This very morning I was look- 
ing in Jessie’s brown eyes and studying her fea- 
tures, and I never saw a stronger resemblance than 
you bear to each other.” 

"This morning? This morning you saw her?” 
gasped Mrs. Emory, trembling with excitement. 

"Yes, madam, and you can soon see her. But 
please be calm, or you will have another attack.” 

"Oh! I will be calm. But the thought of seeing 
her, knowing she is alive, is almost too much hap- 
piness. Tell me, is she good, pure, like yourself?” 

"She is good and pure, Mrs. Emory. For two 
years and more I have seen he'r every day, and have 
had the good fortune to render her more than one 
kindness and to protect her from the abuse of a 
cruel mistress. ” 

"Our Father in Heaven will reward you for it.” 

"Did you not, nearly two years ago — I do not 
know exactly the time, however— call at a house 
where this poor girl had been bound out, to inquire 
after her?” asked Hattie. 

"Yes, I had just found out, by a long-concealed 
paper, where my first husband, her father, had 
taken her when I was helplessly ill. To get rid of 
her care he pretended she was dead, and so I 
mourned her, until at last, by accident, after his 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


137 


death, I found his confession, in which he stated 
where he had left her, also that on her neck he had 
left the necklace I had caused to be made when we 
named her. I went there to the asylum as soon as I 
could, and the matron gave me the address of the 
woman who had taken her. I went there, and the 
woman told me she had run away from her, and she 
knew not, cared not, where she was. My agony of 
disappointment threw me into a long fit of sickness, 
and I had almost given up a hope of ever seeing my 
child. The authorities at the asylum went to the 
woman, and her report to them was the same as to 
me< All I could get to identify my dear babe was 
this necklace and some clothes I had made for her 
to be christened in, which were on her when her 
unnatural father took her away, and left her to the 
charity of strangers. Oh, how soon can I clasp her 
in my arms!” 

“If you were able to ride, within the hour,” said 
Hattie. 

“Oh, I am well. I am strong now. Let me order 
the carriage at once. ” 

Hattie saw that though she believed herself 
strong she was yet very weak. Her pallor and 
tremulous action showed that. And Hattie had 
another fear. She knew Miss Scrimp would hide 
Jessie away rather than let her go, if she could, or 
dared to do it. And she was at heart almost bad 
enough to do anything. And Hattie knew that there 
must be a regular way to force Miss Scrimp at once 
to yield up the poor girl, without Hattie herself 
using the hold she had upon her. 

“Can you ride with Mr. Legare and myself first to 
the asylum, and get from the superintendent there 
an order for the child as her mother?” asked Hattie. 


138 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB, 


“Oh, yes— that is the way. My brother-in-law 
knows the whole story, as I have told it to you, al- 
thrugh, for reasons of our own, we have kept it 
from Frank and Lizzie.’’ 

“Then let me ring for Mr. Legare. The poor girl 
is at my boarding-house, and before the sun sets on 
this day, please Heaven, she shall be in your arms.” 

“Heaven must reward you. I never, never can !” 
sobbed Mrs. Emory. 

Hattie opened the door, called a servant, and in a 
few moments Mr, Legare was in the room. 

He wondered at the joyous light which shone in 
the eyes of his dear sister ; but the hanpy story was 
soon told, and he now knew also that his sister had 
fainted the night before when told she was looking 
on the portrait of her lost child. 

“The ways of Providence are inscrutable, myste- 
rious, but they ever lead aright,” said Mr. Legare. 
“Who would have thought that my chance acquaint- 
ance with Miss Butler, through those old books, 
could lead to this happy result? My dear young 
lady, we owe you a debt of gratitude which it seems 
impossible to repay. Sister, take some refreshment 
to strengthen you, and soon we will be on our way 
to reclaim your long-lost loved one.” 

And now Lizzie and Frank were sent in by their 
father, for the story was no longer a family secret. 

“You are to have a real cousin now,” said Hattie 
to Lizzie, after the story was told. 

“But she’ll not be like you. I shall never love her 
half so well,” sighed Lizzie. 

“She is a sweet girl, and very smart, for the 
chances she has had. It will take but a little while, 
with good teachers, to make her one to be really 
proud of.” 


139 




BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OB. 

Mr. Legare and Mrs. Emory were now ready, and 
with Hattie they went out to the carriage. 

It was astonishing to see the change in the lately 
invalid lady. New hope, new joys, new life beamed 
in her eyes — her very step was elastic and happy. 

“This is better than medicine. WeTl have to dis- 
charge the doctor, and keep you with us,’’ said Mr. 
Legare to Hattie, as the carriage dashed away to 
its destination. 

“We will keep her,” said Mrs. Emory. “I had 
intended to adopt her in place of my lost child, and 
now I will have two daughters instead of one.” 

Tears arose in Hattie’s eyes, but she made no reply 
then. 


140 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

REUNITED. 

Miss Scrimp was in her dining-room, looking to 
the lay-out of the table for the boarders when they 
came to supper, which would be in an hour or there- 
about. 

Little Jessie, ever neat as far as she could be in 
her person, now looked really pretty, for her new 
eight-cent calico dress, though bought at a slop- 
shop, fitted her slight and childish form perfectly, 
and she had combed out her dark curling hair until 
it looked like fiosses of raven silk. The very pallor 
of her little face made her dark, mournful eyes more 
beautiful. 

The girl was setting the table, assisted a little 
now and then by Biddy Lanigan. who cut the 
bread and meat, and Miss Scrimp was superintend- 
ing it all, when she heard a carriage rattle up to the 
door, and a moment later heard the door-bell ring. 

Miss Scrimp had not yet changed her dress for 
evening, or put on her false curls. She thought Mr. 
W might be in that carriage, as he had been be- 

fore when a carriage stopped with Hattie, and to be 
seen by him, without her curls, would never do. 

So she said to Jessie: 

“Run to the door, and see who is there, while I 
run up stairs and change my dress. If it is anybody 
to see me, ask ’em right into the parlor and light 
the gas there, for ’twill soon be dark enough to need 
it, and I look my best in gas-light.” 

Jessie opened the door, and a s*lad cry broke from 
her lips when she saw Hattie standing there, and 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FO OB. 


141 


though two ladies and an elderly gentleman stood 
on the steps also, she paid no heed to them, but cried 
out: 

“Oh, dear, good Miss Hattie, is it you? See my 
new dress. It is the first I have had in such a long, 
long time. If any one wants to see Miss Scrimp, I^m 
to take ’em right into the. parlor and light up the 
gas. She has gone up stairs to fix up.” 

“We’ll go into the parlor, dear; there are those 
with me who wish to see Miss Scrimp, and you, too. 
Eun and light the gas.” 

Jessie ran in, and Mrs. Emory, grasping Hattie’s 
arm, gasped out : 

“You need not tell me who she is; my heart 
spoke the instant I saw her. It is my child — my 
blessed child!” 

“Be calm — come in the parlor, dear madam, and 
let me break it to J essie, or the poor girl will almost 
die in her joy. She has had a hard life here. She 
looks scarcely fourteen, yet she is two years older.” 

“That is true,” said the matron of the asylum; 
“we have the date of her coming registered.” 

The three ladies and Mr. Legare entered the par- 
lor just as the blaze of the gas in three-bracket jets 
came hashing out. 

Jessie turned, and Hattie said, as she stood there 
with a wondering look in her face : 

“Jessie, do you want to be very, very happy? I 
have brought a lady here who will love you so, so 
much if you will only let her.” 

Jessie looked at Hattie, then at Mrs. Emory, whose 
eyes began to fill, and, with a wild cry, sprang half 
way toward the latter. 

“Oh, Miss Hattie!” she cried; “tell me— isn’t this 


142 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


the mother, the dear mother IVe dreamed about so 
long — so long?” 

‘‘It is! it is! Jessie, my child, my love, come to 
my arms!” cried Mrs. Emory, tears of joy rushing 
in a flood from her eyes. 

In a second mother and daughter sobbed in each 
other’s arms. 

Mr. Legare wept, too, and even the matron of the 
asylum, hardened to many a scene like this, stood 
with her handkerchief to her eyes. 

Hattie alone, hearing a shuffling and well-known 
step coming down the stairs, kept her composure, 
for she knew she would need it all. 

“Sakes alive! What’s goin’ on here? Who is that 
that’s a-cryin’ over my bound-girl?” cried Miss 
Scrimp, addressing Hattie, the only one who con- 
fronted her. 

“Hush, woman! This scene is too sacred for you 
to intrude upon,” said Hattie, sternly. “There a 
mother, a loving mother, weeps in joy over her long 
lost child, restored at last by the blessing of God to 
her bosom.” 

“Her child? Why, it’s Jess — my bound-girl!” 
sneered Miss Scrimp. 

“Woman, she is your bound-girl no longer,” said 
the matron of the asylum. “You deceived us when 
once before we came here to And her, and falsely 
said she had run away from you. Now, we, who 
have the right, annul the indentures, and restore her 
to her mother.” 

“It sha’n’t be!” screamed Miss Scrimp. “She’s 
mine by law, and I’ll have her, if I have to call in 
all the police in the ward.” 

“One word more, one single threat, and I will 
call the police to arrest you, and never pause in my 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOE. 


143 


prosecution until you rest inside a prison’s bars, 
there to stay for years, as you deserve. ’ ’ 

Miss Scrimp shivered from head to foot when she 
heard those words, for she had for an instant for- 
gotten that she was wholly in the power of Miss 
Butler. 

‘^Oh, oh!” she sobbed, “this is the way my help 
is to be taken from me after I’ve clothed and fed 
her for years.” 

“Starved and abused her, you mean— say not fed 
and clothed. She has fed on scraps, slept on rags, 
and if I must be a witness you will suffer now for 
what you’ve done to her!” cried Hattie, too angry 
to care to shield the wretched spinster in the least. 

“Oh, hush! Don’t tell her that!” gasped Miss 
Scrimp, for, as Mrs. Emory turned toward her, she 
recognized the lady she had sent away with a false- 
hood when that lady came asking for Jessie Albe- 
marle. 

“Miss Butler, you dear, blessed angel, will you 
come home with Jessie and me? Come as her sister 
and my cihld!” cried Mrs. Emory, taking no more 
notice of Miss Scrimp than she would have done of 
a plaster cast of some poor politician. 

“I cannot go with you to-night, Mrs. Emory, but 
to-morrow I will go to see you and your dear little 
daughter. To-night you want her all to yourself, 
and I have some writing which I must do.” 

“Then, dear Miss Hattie, I will wait till to-morrow 
to say what I cannot say now to you, for my heart 
is too full. Come, Jessie-come, brother— let us go. 
The matron will go with us ; we will leave her at the 
asylum as we go.” 

Jessie ran and kissed Hattie over and over, and 


144 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


then turned and fixed a bitter look of hatred on Miss 
Scrimp. 

“You’ve whipped me for the last time, you tooth- 
less old brute ; you can wait on the table now your- 
self.” 

“Come, Jessie; it is unworthy of you to notice her 
now. Come, my darling.” 

And Mrs. Emory took her child by the hand, and, 
followed by Mr. Legare and the matron, went out to. 
the carriage — Jessie in just the clothes she had on 
when they met, without bonnet or shawl. 

And Miss Scrimp, speechless with impotent anger, 
helpless in her rage, stood and saw them go, and 
saw Hattie kiss Jessie and her mother in the car- 
riage, and then saw it drive off, and many of the 
boarders, just coming, saw it, too, but not yet did 
they understand it all. 

“I s’pose I’m to thank yon for all this,” said Miss 
Scrimp, her cross-eyes fairly green as she snapped 
her words short off, speaking to Hattie. 

“If you thank me for anything thank me for the 
mercy which yet keeps you out of prison,” said 
Hattie, quietly. 

“I’d like to kill you!” hissed the spinster. 

“No doubt you would if you dared. But there is 
an eye on you which protects me. So beware.” 

Miss Scrimp shivered from head to foot, and 
looked all around her as if she feared the hand of 
arrest to be laid upon her. 

Yet Hattie had alluded to that “All-seeing eye,” 
which is never closed. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


145 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“oh! I AM SO unhappy!’’ 

Mr. W , when he came to the bindery next 

morning, knew all about the wonderful discovery, 
the romance in real life, in which Hattie Butler had 
borne such a prominent part. For the night before 
he had gone to his club to try to wear off the melan- 
choly, which he did not want noticed by his loving 
and keen-eyed sisters at home. And there he had 
met Frank Legare, who took him aside and told 
him all about it, giving Hattie all the praise of not 
only discovering but restoring the long-lost one to 
his aunt’s loving arms. 

“She is a glorious girl!” said Frank. “That Miss 
Hattie Butler, I mean.” 

“She is, indeed,” said Mr. W . 

“As good as she is beautiful,” continued Frank. 

“You are right,” said Mr. W , smiling at 

Frank’s enthusiasm. 

“And do you know, Mr. W ,” continued Frank, 

“that I love that girl with all my heart and soul, 
and I mean to marry her?’' 

“Whether she is willing or not?’' asked Mr. 

. W , still smiling, for he knew only too well what 

little chance there was for the young enthusiast. 

“Why, you don’t think she would refuse me— the 
heir to millions. And I fancy I’m not bad-looking 
either.” 

“You had better ask her, not me. She is the 
party most interested,” said Mr. W ,• quietly. 

“W^ll, that’s so. But, some way, though she is 


146 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


only a poor girl, she has such a queenly way about 
her that I’m almost afraid of her. I can’t talk to 
her, familiar and free, as I can to most girls of my 
acquaintance. But I know what I’ll do. Lizzie and 
her are just like two sisters. I’ll get Lizzie to court 
her for me.” 

W laughed heartily at this idea. He had heard 

of kings courting and marrying by proxy in Europe, 
but the idea of a young American sovereign follow- 
ing the example struck him as being very funny. 

And it was. 

Frank, rather annoyed at being laughed at, 
dropped the subject, and turned to horses, where he 
was quite at home, keeping a team himself that 
could ‘‘spin” alongside of Vanderbilt any day. I 
hope I’ve got that term right; I heard some young 
men using it, I think. 

And so, as I said before, Mr. W knew all 

about the happy event when he saw Hattie come 
into the bindery next morning. 

Yet he was astonished to see her looking un- 
usually pale and sad, as if she had passed an un- 
happy, sleepless night. Could it be that he was the 
cause of it? It made him wretched to think that she 
might be worrying because she thought her refusal 
had made him unhappy. But he determined to be 
as cheerful as he could, if such was the case. For 
he knew that she respected him truly, even if she 
could not love him, and he would not have lost that 
respect for the world. 

So he made his usual tour through the shop, try- 
ing to be as cheerful and kind to all his employees 
as ever, and finally he came to the table where Hat- 
tie bent assiduously over her task. 

“I was told last night, Miss Hattie, by young Le- 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


147 


gare, that you had discovered a cousin for him. He 
was full of praises of you.’’ 

“Yet it was not my act; I was but an instrument 
in the hands of Providence to bring a long-abused 
little girl to a loving mother. I feel thankful for 
it, for I have pitied the poor child so long, and until 
lately have hardly had a chance to befriend her as I 
wished to do. But now she is safe. It will be 
heaven on earth to her, this change. 

“I should think so. By the way, would you not 
like to visit her this morning?’^ 

“No, sir, not till afternoon. Then, if you will 
spare me a little while, I would like to keep my 
promise, and go to see both mother and child.’’ 

“Take the time. Miss Hattie, and any time you 
desire, with pleasure. I have instructed the fore- 
man in consequence of the nature of your new work, 
you are to be entirely unrestricted, and no account 
of time kept with you, though your salary goes on.” 

“Oh, Mr. W , you are too kind!” 

“No, Miss Hattie, and do not consider me so. The 
new duties you perform are more -valuable to us 
than you conceive. So consider that it is the firm, 
not yourself, under obligation.” 

Hattie understood and felt the delicacy of his 
thoughts and words, and appreciated the true manli- 
ness of his heart ; but she could only thank him— 
all other reward must come from his own conscious- 
ness of being kind to her. 

Some way, during the morning, he had dropped 
out his idea of going to California to the foreman, 
and Mr. Jones, who had of late taken to speaking to 
Hattie much more often than he had formerly, 
spoke of it when he came to take some work to the 
sewing bench, which she had collated. 


148 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


‘To California! Is it not a sudden resolution?’’ 
she asked, in wonder. 

“Well, may be ’tis on his part. His father did 
talk of sending me there, for he has long wanted to 
set up a branch bindery to this on the Pacific coast, 
but I kind o’ hung back. I love my wife and baby, 
you see, and I couldn’t have afforded to take ’em 
with me ; and as for leavin’ ’em, I’d rather go down 
to the paste-bench and work for half wages here.” 

Mr. Jones was truly a family man, and it is a pity 
there are not more family men like him. 

“When will Mr. W go?” asked Hattie. 

“Very soon — as soon as he can get off, he told me 
this morning, but I don’t know as I ought to have 
spoken of it, for he never cares to have his plans 
known. But I know when I tell you anything it 
will not get blabbed around.” 

“No, I shall not speak of it to others,” said Hattie. 

And now, when the foreman went away, she felt 
more than ever wretched. Was he going to leave 
his pleasant home, his dear parents and sisters, on 
her account? — because she had thrown a shadow on 
his life? 

She could not bear the thought ; she was deter- 
mined to speak to him. So, taking some work in her 
hand, as if she wished to consult him, she went di- 
rectly to the office. 

“Forgive me, Mr. W ,” she said, “if I intrude. 

But I just learned that you had spoken of going to 
California.” 

“Such is my intention. Miss Hattie.” 

“Oh, Mr. W , am I the cause of this sudden de- 

sire to leave your happy home here — your pleasant 
business? If it is, let me go away. I will never ap- 
pear in yoUr presence again. Oh, I am so unhappy !” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


149 


And tears fell fast from her dark eyes. 

“Dear Miss Hattie, please be calm, and do not 
blame yourself, for it is no fault of 'yours. But, be- 
lieve me, for the present it will be better for both of 
us that I go. It will help you to forget my folly, help 
me to bear my bitter disappointment. I would not 
have you leave here on any account. So long as you 
are here I can hear from you, know you are well, 
and — that will be much happiness to me.” 

“Mr. W , you are too noble to suffer. Would to 

Heaven I could save you from it. If you do go to 
California I will intrust a mission to you which I 
would not confide to any other man on earth, con- 
fident that you will act for me as if you were a dear 
brother, a true friend, as I feel and know you to be. 
And in that mission you will discover what I have 
hbld as a secret, sacredly, for over three years, and 
it will help you to blame me less for the disappoint- 
ment under which you suffer.” 

“Ah, Miss Hattie, I do not, have not, blamed you. 
I know your reasons are good. Your noble heart 
could not bid you act in any way but rightly. I will 
undertake any service that you intrust to me, fulfill 
your wishes sacredly to the utmost of my power.” 

“Thank you, Mr. W . A letter which I wrote 

last night, with intent to mail, will be confided to 
your care. And also written directions where to 
•find the person to whom it is addressed, and other 
matters which I shall ask of you.” 

“All of which shall be attended to with faithful 
diligence. Miss Hattie. And now, please, wash your 
eyes in the water-basin there before going out. I 
would not have any one notice you had been weep- 
ing.” 

“You are so good, Mr. W 1” 


150 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


Hattie’s heart was too full to say more. She 
washed her face in the office basin, and then went 
out to her table with a lighter heart, bending to her 
work cheerfully, to do all she could before the car- 
riage came from Mr. Legare’s to take her to see Jes- 
sie Albemarle and her mother. 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


151 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE NEW HELP. 

Hattie was bending over an old edition of Don 
Quixote, in Spanish, which had been brought up for 
binding— almost worn out, the cover gone, and the 
leaves misplaced, when two hands, soft and small, 
were placed over her eyes, and a voice, disguised, 
cried out : 

“Who am I?’’ 

“Lizzie— I knew you by your rings,’' said Hattie, 
laughing. 

“Oh, I stole up so still I thought you’d think it 
was some bindery girl,” said Lizzie, bending over 
and kissing her friend. 

“No bindery girl would presume to take liberties 
with me, dear Lizzie. I never mingle with them, 
though I always treat them with courtesy when 
chance throws them in my way.” 

“I might have known it, darling Hattie. You are 
not like them, or any one else that I know. I do be- 
lieve you are a fine lady, just masquerading at work 
for a secret cause of your own.” 

“Time will tell, Lizzie.” 

“Well, I only wish it would be in a hurry about it. 

But come, dear, I saw Mr. W , bless his heart, 

when I came in, and he said he had already told 
you to take time to come to our house whenever you 
wanted to. And, dear little Jessie, with dress- 
makers and milliners all around her, happier than 
anything else alive, only asks for her dear Miss 
Hattie to come. She has told us how you fed her 


152 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


when almost starved, and how you gave her clothes 
when she was in rags, and her mother says she’ll 
pay you in love if she can do nothing else.” 

“The love of true friends is very precious,” said 
Hattie. 

“And we are your true friends, and we will be 
always,” said Lizzie, earnestly. “But come, dear 
Hattie, they will wait for us. Frank is out in the 
carriage. He would come along ; but when he got 
here, the lazy fellow wanted to stay in the car- 
riage instead of coming up. He said Mr. W 

was laughing at him for something that happened 
last night at the club-room, but will not tell me 
what.” 

“Most likely your brother was boasting over his 
new cousin,” said Hattie, putting on her things to 
go. 

“Yes, he did tell him about her.” 

The two girls now went out, and in a few moments 
were in the carriage, and on their way up town. 
They stopped but once, then it was by order of 
Frank, who went into a florist’s to get four large 
bouquets for those in the carriage and at home. 

“Oh, my Hattie! my Hattie!” cried Jessie Albe- 
marle, when our heroine went into the sitting-room, 
where, with her mother, and surrounded by busy 
cutters and sewers, she was being made presentable. 

And she showered kisses on the only true friend 
she had known in her many days of sorrow. 

As lunch had been kept waiting for the arrival of 
the carriage and its occupants, the family, as Mr. 
Legare jovially termed them all, so as to include 
Hattie, left the sewers and their work, and ad- 
journed to the dining-room. 

Jessie, who seemed to come naturally into the 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


153 


ways of a lady, was almost too happy to eat, bui) 
Cousin Frank told her she would never grow large, 
stately, and beautiful like Miss Butler unless she 
ate heartily. 

It was a roundabout way to compliment Hattie, 
but Frank, in his innocence, didn’t know how else 
to do it. Some men are so awkward, you know. 

‘‘Did Miss Scrimp carry on much after I came 
away?” asked Jessie. 

“She commenced it, but I very promptly hushed 
it. She said she would like to kill me.” 

“And so she would if she dared. But she is an old 
coward. Miss Hattie. No one but a coward would 
beat a helpless girl as she used to beat me.” 

“That is true, and were it not for publicity, I 
would make her suffer for it to the full etxent of the 
law,” said Mrs. Emory. “But, Miss Hattie, you 
ought not to stay another day in that house. Do 
come here to stay with us. You need never work 
again. If you will only come and be Jessie’s sister 
you will overflow the cup of joy already full.” 

“It cannot be at present, Mrs. Emory, though I 
thank you from my heart. Three years ago I laid 
out a certain course, for good reasons, which I hope 
yet to be able to explain to you all, my kind friends, 
and I cannot change that course until an event, 
which I hope and pray for, takes place. Then, per- 
haps, you will think all the more of me for the 
course I have taken.” 

“We have no right to ask more. Miss Hattie,” 
said Mr. Legare. “I, for one, have every faith in 
the purity of your motives in all things.” 

Hattie could but be pleased with all these atten- 
tions. 

After lunch the ladies adjourned to the sitting- 


154 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


room, while Mr. Legare went to his library. Frank, 
with his new ideas of diplomacy, asked Lizzie if she 
and Miss Hattie wouldn’t take just a little dash with 
him in his phaeton behind his thoroughbreds. 

Lizzie had been out with him once or twice, been 
choked with dust or covered with mud, and she felt 
no desire to try it again. She said she preferred the 
family coach and steady driving. 

As Frank would not go alone, he hung about the 
sitting-room, and got well covered with lint while 
he dodged about among the dry-goods. 

Jessie, who had never possessed a nice dress, 
was in ecstacy with everything they showed her, 
and Mrs. Emory had a double joy in seeing her dear 
child so appreciative of everything done for her. 
And the girl told such funny stories about Miss 
Scrimp and Biddy Lanigan, mimicking them so 
dr oily, that she ‘‘brought down the house,” as the 
critics say. 

Hattie spent a very happy afternoon, dined with 
the family, and was then sent home in the carriage 
as usual. It was just supper-time at Miss Scrimp’s 
when she got to the boarding-house, but the old 
spinster was at the door when the carriage stopped, 
her eyes fairly green with hate and envy. 

Had not Saturday night been so close at hand, 
and the money for the silk dress expected, there is 
small room to doubt she would have had a “pick” 
at Hattie in spite of the fear in which she held her. 
As it was, she said, as Hattie passed her : 

“Some folks ought to feel terrible proud to ride in 
other folks’ carriages. For me, I’d rather go afoot, 
when it’s my own shoes I walk in.” 

Hattie made no reply, but she paused to say a kind 
word to some of the girls who were coming in. At 


BEA UTIFUL BUT POOR. 155 

the same moment her eyes fell on the new servant 
whom Miss Scrimp had hired to replace Jessie, for 
she could nofc get another girl frotn the asylum. Her 
record was already against her there. 

This girl had just come over from the ''Fader- 
land” far away. She was young and small, but 
stout-built, and she thundered around on wooden 
shoes, much to the amusement of the girls, as they 
came in. She had not a very good idea of Ameri- 
can ways, spoke no English, and Miss Scrimp and 
Biddy Lanigan had to manage her by signs. 

The secret of her employment was this : She was 
got from an intelligence office on a quarter of the 
going wages, because she wanted to learn the Eng- 
lish language, and how to act as a waitress. 

Hattie, having dined so late, did not care for sup- 
per, so she did not stay to see Marguerite essay her 
first trials at carrying round tea to the boarders, nor 
did she know until after supper that the new girl, 
stumbling as she carried two cups of hot tea in he r 
hands, deposited the contents of both down the 
scrawny neck and bosom of Miss Scrimp, who, 
screaming with pain, attempted to box her ears, but 
got the worst of it in the struggle, for the girl tore 
off all of Miss Scrimp’s false hair, and left her al- 
most bald-headed, besides damaging the arrange- 
ment of the pads, which made up the best part of 
her form. So Miss Scrimp learned that she had not 
poor, helpless Jessie Albemarle to deal with now. 
And as she had engaged this girl for a month, she 
dared not discharge her without paying her wages, 
so she drew off to her room to repair damages, and 
left the new girl and Biddy to wait on the table. 

And they managed better without her, for the 
girl was willing and good-natured, and, after her 


156 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


first mishap, was more careful. Biddy, who had 
got a hint from the girls that she was to have a 
dress out of the proceeds of the subscription, bustled 
around, and between her and Germany, as she 
called the new girl, the supper ended pleasantly. 

There was enough on the table, and the food was 
good. Miss Scrimp had got started in it, and did not 
dare to advance backward. 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


167 


CHAPTER XXXn. 

‘‘she is dying!’’ 

Hattie was engaged that night, until a late hour, 
over her writing-desk. A letter which she had al- 
ready written, enveloped, sealed, and stamped 
ready for mailing, was opened, a long postscript 
added, and then it was sealed with wax, and from a 
tiny seal in ivory an impression was made — an 
anchor and a cross, signifying Hope and Faith. 

Hattie wept over this letter, and, after she had 
sealed it, took up the mountain sketch we have al- 
luded to, and looked at it long and tearfully. Then, 
with a swift, skillful hand, she copied this sketch on 
a smaller scale on the head of a large letter-sheet. 
Then, taking three letters from envelopes, which 
all bore the pierced hearts as a seal, of which we 
have spoken several times, she read them over and 
over, and taking one, copied a portion of it beneath 
the sketch which she had just completed. 

“If he will undertake the mission, by this Mr. 

W can be surely guided to that ‘Mountain 

Home,’ and if all is found, as I hope to our Father it 
may be, his mission will bring joy to a lonely heart, 
perhaps sweep away the clouds that have so long 
darkened my path; and then, absolved from my 
vow, I can throw off the veil that I abhor, and once 
more among my equals in the world take the place 
which belongs to me. Surely I deserve it if patience 
and long suffering ever met a reward.” 

Ifc was after midnight, by the tokens of the city 
bells, when our heroine closed her writing-desk. A 
brief time over her Bible, a little while at silent 


158 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


prayer, and then she lay down to rest on her coarse 
and humble bed, contented with her lot, and not 
for an instant regretting that she had refused a 
home of affluence and the fostering care of rich and 
loving friends. 

At early dawn the loud, shrill calls of steam 
whistles, blown to wake the workers in great estab- 
lishments, woke our heroine, and she was up and 
washed, ready to breakfast with the rest at the usual 
early hour. 

Miss Scrimp, with her lean neck bandaged where 
it had been scalded the night before, sat grim and 
silent at her post. But the steaks were good and 
well cooked, the bread soft and fresh, the coffee 
strong, and all still went on as it had done since Hat- 
tie held the finger of fear above the old maid’s head. 

The meal soon over, the chattering girls wended 
their way to their various shops, and Hattie, within 
almost a minute of her usual time, went to her table 
in the old book-bindery, which seemed almost like 
a home to her. 

Mr. Jones met her with his usual pleasant good- 
morning as she went to her place, and other hands, 
whom she knew slightly, bowed; but these were 
the only recognitions. She had never made any 
intimacy in all the long months she had worked 
there. 

Mr. W came in later, and went at once into 

his office. Though Mr. Jones kept the time of every 

hand, Mr. W always made out the pay-roll on 

the morning of each Saturday, and in the afternoon 
the hands went into the office as called, one by one, 
and received their pay. 

And that had been the custom for the many years 
that the bindery, first under the father alone, and 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


159 


now under the father and son, had been kept run- 
ning. Never, in easy times or h^^d the prac- 

tice varied — never had a Saturday’s sun set with a 
single one of their employees unpaid. No wonder 
that good and steady hands remained there, and the 
best work in all the great city was the result. 

Hattie waited until the noon-day hour of rest came 

before disturbing Mr. W . She knew it was his 

busy day, and she also knew enough to respect it. 

If others were always as thoughtful many an em- 
ployee would be saved the sin of hard thoughts and 
harsh words. 

While the people were at their dinners, Hattie 
took but a little while for her lunch, and with her 
letters ready, entered the office. 

Mr. W sat there, looking weary and sad. 

‘^Do I disturb you, sir?” she asked, gently. 

“No, Miss Hattie, you come like an angel of relief. 
I have been working over Jones’ time-book, and 
making out the people’s accounts. Permit me to 
pay you now, so you will not have to come again.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

And she took the money she had earned, and 
signed the receipt-book, as she had done for months 
and months, when her turn came, but under far 
different circumstances. 

• After this was done, and he had asked Hattie to 
sit down— for no one else would be called until the 
dinner-hour was past, and the work call sounded— 
Hattie took the letters from her pocket and opened 
her business. 

“You kindly consented to undertake a mission for 

me, Mr. W . It may be to you ' a thankless 

undertaking. Yet, on the contrary, it may be a joy- 
ous, gracious work. I have seen so much, suffered 


160 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


SO much, that I have little faith in the reformation 
of man when he has once yielded himself a slave to 
appetite and forgotten his mahood. If you follow 
the directions laid down in a letter I have written 
to you, you will deliver another letter to a man 
whom I once believed to be the noblest of his race. 
He fell, thank Heaven, before I was placed where 
his fall could drag me down. I would not utterly 
condemn and bid him go down, down, till he sank 
forever in the gulf of shame. I wept over him while 
I drove him from my side, and I prayed to him to 
go where no one would know him, and there to lead 
a new life. It was a terrible thing for me to do. I 
loved that man with my whole heart and soul. Y ou 
may know some time who and what I was when I 
thus sent him forth — let it suffice that I was not a 
work-girl. 

“He went. I have never seen him since. But at 
intervals I have heard from him. It was he who 
sketched the ‘Mountain Home,’ which you found in 
my portfolio. He professes to have reformed en- 
tirely. He says he is rich. I care not for his gold. 
But if he is rich in temperance, in virtue, in honor, 
in manhood restored and truth redeemed, I will 
keep the troth once plighted. 

“To you, dear, kind friend, I confide the task of 
learning if this be so. I know you will do it with- 
out one selfish thought or wish to warp your judg- 
ment. And now you see my future is in your hands. 
Take these letters and the sketch of the spot where 
he writes he is to be found. There is a secret trail, 
but the key to find it is in my letter.” 

“I accept the mission. Manfully to him and 
truthfully to you will I carry out your desires,” 

“Thank you, Mr. W . Look over my letter, 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB, 


161 


and see if it needs any explanation. I will look at 
the morning paper while you read.'*’ 

She took up the paper while he read the letter. 

Suddenly he heard a gasping cry from her lips. 
He looked up — she stood, pale and breathless like a 
stature of despair, with her finger on one of the 
“Personal” notices in that paper. At a glance, wild 
and swift, he read these words : 

“G. E. L.— If you yet live, come to your mother 
quickly— she is dying 1” 


162 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

‘^MY MOTHER IS DYING!’’ 

‘‘Great Heaven! what is the matter, Miss Hat- 
tie?” he cried, as he saw her face turn whiter and 
whiter, and her tall, graceful form totter and reel as 
if stricken by a fearful blow. 

“My mother is dying,” she gasped, and I far 
away, with forgiveness not passed between us,” and 
she sank shivering into the chair from which she 
had arisen. 

And now, in a flash of thought, Mr. W remem- 

bered where he had seen those initials before. They 
were on the clasp of the portfolio which held her 
drawings. Undoubtedly they were the initials of 
her real name, and all this time she had been to him 
only Hattie Butler. 

“Miss Hattie, how can I assist you? If you desire 
it, I will escort you anywhere you wish to go, leav- 
ing when you desire, waiting for you, and keeping 
sacredly any secret you may share with me.” 

“Oh, Mr. W , you are so good. Do not believe 

me wicked, or reveal it, if I tell you that my real 
name is embraced in those initials — that no wrong 
doing of my own caused me to hide it under another, 
but that I sought to escape persistent annoyance on 
a subject I may not name now — sought to evade a 
demand which wealthy and worldly parents made 
of me.” 

“Miss Hattie, I would stake my life on your good- 
ness, that every action of your life has been pure, 
and marked by the noblest of purposes. Now, tell 
me what I must or can do for you.” 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


163 


‘^Grant me leave to absent myself a little while. 
It may be two or three days— it can hardly be less— 
it may be longer, and while I am gone, please go to 
Mr. Legare's and explain to him and his family that 
I was called away at almost a moment’s notice. I 
must take the four o’clock boat for Boston. I will 
have time to go to my boarding-house, settle my 
bill, and then I can take a carriage for the boat. ” 

“May I not escort you there?” 

“For both our sakes, it will be better not. I will 
be safe in a carriage and in the open light of day. 

Do not fear. And, Mr. W , I will, when I come 

back, if you are not gone to California, tell you all. 
I will withhold nothing from so good, so true a 
friend. I go to the bedside of a dying mother. That 
is what that notice calls me to. I will not condemn 
that mother at this hour. But it was her pride and 
obstinacy that forced me into a strange city to earn 
my daily bread.” 

“Do you not need more money?” asked Mr. W . 

“No, sir; I have enough in bills on my person, 
and some in bank if I needed more ; and I hold Mr. 
Legare’s munificent check for those drawings. I 

need nothing, Mr. W , but your belief in my 

honor and truth— your kind sympathy.” 

“You have both, dear Miss Hattie — both to the 
fullest extent. Go, and Heaven shield and bless 
you. You will surely return?” 

“Yes, and take my place here, no matter what oc- 
curs. Here will I stay until you return from Cali- 
fornia, and the result of your mission is made known 
to me.” 

> “Thank you. Miss Hattie. I will not detain you 
longer, for you will have but little time for prepara- 
tion and to reach the boat. This evening I will go 


164 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


to Mr. Legare’s, and simpl}^ explain that you were 
called away by the sickness of a relative.” 

“Thank you; that will be enough. Tell them I 
will go to see them when I return.” 

A grasp of the hand, a tearful good-by, and the 
honest, noble man, the pure, truthful woman, were 
apart — he standing gloomily alone in his office, she 
on her way, walking fast, toward her boarding- 
house. 

Entering that, she found Biddy, Marguerite, and 
Miss Scrimp all in the kitchen. 

She handed Miss Scrimp the amount of her board 
for the week, then giving her the additional dollar 
for her silk dress, she said : 

“I pay my part of the proposed subscription for 
the silk dress. Miss Scrimp.” Then turning to Biddy 
Lanigan, she said: “You have always been very 
good to me, Biddy. Here is a five dollar bill for you 
to use as you choose.” 

“Long life an’ more power to ye, ye born angel ! ” 
cried Biddy; “who could help bein’ kind to the likes 
o’ you? Sure there’s not a lady in the land can hold 
her head higher than your own.” 

“Thank you, Biddy. Now, Miss Scrimp, I am 
going away for a few days, and shall lock up my 
room, for I leave my trunk, books, and everything 
except my little hand-satchel there.” 

“Sakes alive! where be you a-goin’?” 

“To visit a sick relative, and I shall return as soon 
as I can.” 

“Sakes alive!” 

Those were the last words Hattie heard as she 
turned and hurried to her room. 

Half an hour later she came down dressed in a 
traveling suit of heavy brown pongee, with a bon- 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FO OB. 


165 


net and shawl literally worth more than the entire 
wardrobe of Miss Scrimp, her dress and her bearing 
that of a lady. 

‘^Sakes alives! Who^d have thought she had such 
clothes here,” was Miss Scrimp’s exclamation, as 
her ‘‘cheapest boarder,” as she had called her more 
than once, left the door. 


166 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Hattie’s sex defended. 

I don’t know why it is that the girls always read 
those “Personals” in the paper. But I know they do. 

The very minute Mr. W entered his father’s, 

where he lived with his parents and sisters, his tall- 
est and prettiest sister, Flotie, came running to him 
with the paper in her hand. 

“Brother Edward,” said she, “don’t you remem- 
ber the initials on that portfolio of drawings you 
had the other night — I mean the drawings made by 
that pretty bindery girl of yours.” 

“Why, what of it?” he asked, with well-assumed 
carelessness. 

“Why, they’re here in this paper. Read this per- 
sonal: 'G. E. L. — If you yet live come to your 
mother quickly— she is dying.’ That must mean 
your bindery girl. Anna saw it first and brought it 
to me, and we had a great mind to send it down to 
you, marked, at the bindery.” 

“That would have been folly. There may be a 
thousand people in the world with those very initials. 
And, moreover, the initials of the girl alluded to are 
H. B. Her name is Hattie Butler.” 

“That may be an assumed name. The initials on 
her portfolio were G. E. L., for we all saw it and 
spoke of it at the time you had it here.” 

“Very likely. Is dinner ready? I’m hungry as 
an owl. And I’ve got to go out to make a call this 
evening.” 

“What, in the fearful storm that is just beginning 
to rage?” 

“Yes. I do not like the storm— it must be terrible 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OR, 


167 


on the water — but I promised to make a call at Mr. 
Legare’s, and I never break a promise.’’ 

‘‘At Mr. Legare’s on Fifth avenue? He who has 
a son in your club, and a pretty blonde for a daugh- 
ter?” 

“Yes, Flotie.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t keep you from going there, 
storm or no storm. You can go in the carriage. I’d 
just go wild to have that girl for my sister-in-law. 
The Legares stand at the very head of New York 
society. But there’s the dinner-bell.” 

“Mercy! how the wind blows. This storm has 
come up very quickly — a regular north-easter,” 
said the brother, with a shiver, and there was a 
very anxious look on his face as he went to the din- 
ing-room. 

His people always dined late, that they might 
have his company after the day’s business was over. 

At the table Edward W ate very little. His 

soup was barely tasted,, the fish passed entirely, the 
“old roast beef” always on that table just apologized 
to, and he would not wait for dessert at all.” 

“Why, brother, you said you were so hungry 
when you came in?” said Flotie, opening her great 
black eyes in wonder at his abstinence. “Has the 
thought of that little blonde divinity driven away 
all appetite?” 

‘‘What blonde divinity?” asked Anna, yet ignor- 
ant of his destination that evening. 

“Why, that pretty Miss Legare whom we saw at 
the opera the other night. Her father is worth 
millions on millions, and they descended from a 
noble French family, I know, just by their looks 
and the name,” answered Flotie. 

“Oh!” 


168 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


And that was all Anna said just then. 

But she kept on thinking, and when her brother 
kissed her and Flotie good-night, as he invariably 
did on going out, she said : 

‘‘If you bring a nice, aristocratic sister-in-law to 
our house, Edward, I’ll love you better than ever, if 
such a thing can be.’’ 

His answer was a sigh, for he was thinking of one 
who even then was tossing on the angry waves of 
Long Island Sound. 

And putting on his overcoat, with an umbrella to 
shelter him over the walk, he stepped into his own 
carriage, which he had ordered out, and gave the 
driver the number and avenue on which Mr. Legare 
resided. 

He found all the family at home, and met the 
new cousin, whom he had never seen before. He was 
warmly welcomed, and as Mr. Legare insisted on 
his passing the evening there, he permitted him to 
have his carriage and horses sent around to the ca- 
pacious stables in the rear of the mansion. 

When he told them that he had been sent by Miss 
Hattie Butler to tell them she had been called away 
suddenly by the illness of a near relative, and that 
even then she was on her way to Boston by the 
night boat, every one of the family joined him in his 
expressed anxiety about the storm — a wild, sleety 
north-easter, which could be heard in its fury even 
inside the marble walls of the grand mansion. 

“Alone, without any escort ; she’ll be just scared 
to death,” said Frank. “I wish I was there.” 

“You’d be worse frightened than she’ll be,” said 
Lizzie. “She is brave— very brave, I know.” 

“Pooh— she is only a woman, and all women are 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


169 


cowards when -danger is around/’ said Frank, in his 
important way. 

‘‘Allow me to differ with you, Mr. Legare,” said 

Mr. W , promptly. “I believe that the female 

sex, as a generality, have far more moral courage 
than men. And what is physical courage but that 
of the brute? ITine times out of ten those who possess 
it hold it more on their ignorance of danger than 
anything else.” 

“There, Mr. Frank Legare, you’re answered, and 
I hope you’ve got enough of it. Women cowards, 
indeed ! That shows what you know about them.” 

“Oh, I might know that you’d side with him,” 
said Frank, petulantly. “But that don’t change my 
opinion a bit. Miss Lizzie.” 

“Frank! Frank! I really thought you were more 
gallant!” said his father, laughing at the evident 
discomfiture of his son. 

“I might as well giv^ it up since you’re all against 
me,” said Frank, in a sulk. 

“Oh, I’m not against you. Cousin Frank,” cried 
Little Jessie, running up to him, “for I was the big- 
gest coward in the world to let that vile wretch. 
Miss Scrimp, beat me, as she often did, when I 
might have turned on her and scratched her very 
eyes out.” 

Frank laughed now. He had one on his side, any 
way, and that put him in good humor again. 

All this time Mrs. Emory had been sitting sad and 
silent, listening to the storm which raged without. 
For well built though the house was, the fury of the 
gale dashing against the heavy plate-glass of the 
windows, gave a sign of what it must be out on the 
unsheltered sea. 

“Heaven be merciful!” she said, solemnly. 


170 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


“Heaven be merciful to those who are exposed on 
this fearful night on the raging deep. God help those 
who now are battling with the storm.” 

“Amen,” broke from every lip. Even Frank looked 
sad, and he was silent now. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR 


171 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

BATTLING WITH THE STORM. 

‘‘Battling with the storm.” That was the very 
word. For while those loving friends sent up a 
prayer to Heaven for her safety, Hattie Butler, un- 
able to remain in her state-room, not afraid, for she 
was truly brave, but anxious, had thrown a water- 
proof mantle, which her satchel contained, over her 
head and shoulders, and gone out on the deck near 
the pilot house, where, holding on to one of the 
great iron stays, she looked out on the wildly heav- 
ing waters, listened to the howl of the mad gale, 
and waited, with faith and hope, for the end, what- 
ever it might be. 

By the light in the pilot-house, which shone on 
the pale faces of the two pilots who stood at the 
wheel, she also saw the calm but stern face of Cap- 
tain Smith, the commander of the boat, a veteran 
in the navigation of the Sound, and she felt that he 
knew his peril, and would do all that man could do 
to save the lives of those intrusted to his care. 

But it is not man who brings, or rules, or allays 
the storm. The winds are in the hands of the Al- 
mighty, and He is able to save when all else are 
powerless. 

She saw the mate pass her and go to the pilot- 
house door. The captain asked : 

“Is all right below, Mr. Glynn?” 

“Yes, sir, so far. But it is a fearful night. I never 
knew the steamer to heave and strain so hard,” re- 
plied the mate, a tall, fine-looking young man, with 


172 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


a bare accent, not a brogue, to tell that he was a 
son of Erin’s Isle. 

“Have you had the pump well sounded?’’ 

“Yes, sir, I have given orders to sound them every 
fifteen minutes, and to report instantly if there is 
any gain in the water below.” 

“Good! You are the right man in the right place, 
Mr. Glynn. Tell Bishop, the engineer, to keep a 
full head of steam on ; we need every pound we can 
carry to make head against this gale. The train at 
Fall River will have to wait for our passengers or 
leave without them, if this no’-easter holds stiff till 
daylight.” 

“I only hope weTl live it through,” was what Hat- 
tie Butler heard the mate say to himself, as he crept 
away toward the ladder to leeward, by which he 
descended toward the engine-room. 

And then she saw the captain go and look at the 
compass, and say to the pilots : 

“Keep her up two points more to windward. We 
ought to be near enough to Gardener’s Island to see 
the light.” 

“In this sleet, with the spray dashing as high as 
the smoke-stacks, we’ll never see anything till we 
are right on the top of it!” growled out one of the 
pilots. 

Was it not a Providence that made Hattie Butler 
peer out at that moment from the shelter which the 
pilot-house afforded her from the wind and rain — 
peer out into the gloom and darkness ahead? It 
must have been. 

For close, very close, she saw what she knew must 
be an artificial light, for through the inky clouds no 
star or moon could have been seen. 


MEAUTIFUL BUT POOU, 


173 


Quick as thought she sprang to the pilot-house 
door, flung it open, and screamed out : 

“Cantain, there is a light very close to us on our 
left hand. I can see it out here plain. 

‘‘On the port bow? Impossible!’’ cried the cap- 
tain, but he sprang out to see. 

The next second he sprang to the pilot-house. 

“Hard up the helm!” he shouted. “Ring the 
stopping-bell, and then back the engine.” 

All this did not take a second to say, and as quick 
as it could be done every order was obeyed. 

And as the great steamer came around in water 
almost smooth, the captain came up and drew Hat- 
tie Butler into the pilot-house. 

“Young lady,” said he, “you have saved this 
steamer and the lives of all on board. This night my 
wife would have been a widow and my children or- 
phans but for you. Five minutes more and we 
would have been head onto the rocks among the 
breakers! What is your name?” 

“Hattie Butler!” gasped our heroine. “Are we 
safe now?” 

“Yes, I know just where we are, and can head 
my course and make Fall River in the morning, but 
perhaps too late for the train. If I was worth a mil- 
lion dollars I would give every cent to you, for death 
and ruin stood face to face to us.” 

“Captain, I have only done my duty as an instru- 
ment in the hands of God. It was He who sent me 
from the state-room, where I could not sleep, up 
here, where I could see the light-house when I did.” 

“Heaven be thanked with you,” said the old cap- 
tain, reverently, and he bowed his head. 

“If all is safe now I will go to my room,” said 
Hattie. 


174 


Mautiful but poor. 


‘‘It is. At breakfast I want you at my right hand 
at table. We will be in smooth water then, please 
Heaven. I will steady you with my arm as you go 
below, for the steamer pitches heavily with, her 
head off, as it is, from the wind.’’ 

And gratefully the captain took Hattie down to 
her room, and then went back to his post. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


175 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

SAFE IN PORT. 

‘^Cap’n, that was the closest call I’ve ever had on 
the Sound, and I’ve been on it, boy and man, for 
five-and-fifty years.” 

That was what the chief pilot said to Captain 
Smith when he returned to the pilot-house after he 
had seen Hattie Butler to her state-room, and taken 
a turn to the engine-room and forward deck below 
to see how things went there. 

“How on earth did we ever get in so far, with the 
wind holding where it did?” chimed in the other pi- 
lot. “Our course ought to have kept us full five 
miles farther out.” 

“There was a stiff sou’wester all the night and 
day before, and with the tide at ebb it made a terri- 
ble current setting out by Montauk. I should have 
thought of it. I headed well over for smooth water, 
but not enough to throw us so far in shore, by ten 
miles, rather than five. I’ll never forget this experi- 
ence. We have over four hundred souls on board, 
and had it not been for that bright-eyed girl, where 
would they be now?” 

“Who is she, cap?” 

“I don’t know. She gave me her name. Hattie 
Butler— that is all I know. She wears the dress, and 
has the manners of a high-born lady ; and, as you 
saw, though the face was pale then, she is as pretty 
as pretty can be.” 

“I was too bad scared to look at her,” said the 
chief pilot. “I’m hardly over it yet. The passen- 
gers will make up a purse for her when they hear 


176 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


of it. If they don’t, they don’t deserve the luck 
they’ve had.” 

'‘She has begged me not to tell of it at all,” replied 
the captain; “but I don’t see how I can keep my 
mouth shut. And there are three or four newspaper 
men on board, and they’d never forgive me if I 
kept it from them. But I’ll not speak of it at the 
breakfast table to all of ’em, as I meant to.” 

The steamer was now heading her course, and the 
wind going down a little, while the rain, that fell 
heavier than ever, made the sea a great deal 
smoother. 

But the steamer was hours behind, and though 
Mr. Bishop, the chief engineer, drove the firemen to 
their work, the steamer could not make Fall Biver 
within four hours of the regular train time. But 
the captain told his passengers at the breakfast- 
table that there would be a special train ready when 
the boat reached her wharf to take them right on, 
and he added that it was better to be late and safe 
than early and in peril, adding a remark which he 
credited to his engineer : 

“I’d rather get to Fall Kiver six hours behind time 
than go to perdition on time.” 

Only the reporters on board knew, and it had been 
given to them on condition that they should not re- 
peat it there, how near to destruction they had been ; 
and the captain, with manly delicacy and honor, 
had refrained from pointing out Miss Butler to them 
as the heroine, thus saving her from the torture of 
being interviewed. 

At breakfast Captain Smith was very polite and 
attentive to our heroine, but as he was always polite 
to all his passengers that did not expose her. 

At last the noble steamer, much to the joy of all 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


177 


on board, and of friends and agents on shore, made 
her port, and ran into her regular wharf. 

‘‘Miss Butler,” said the captain, “when you return 
to New York please take passage on my boat, and if 
you purchase a ticket I shall feel hurt. The compli- 
mentary card, which contains my ‘name, will pass 
you on the railroad at all times, and I want you to 
think how much I owe you when you do me the real 
favor to accept it.” 

He was escorting her from the boat to the cars 
when he said this, and she could not refuse to ac- 
cept his card, whether she ever used it or not. 

In five minutes more the cars bore the glad pas- 
sengers toward the city so often called the “Hub” — 
I hardly understand why. 

And now I must draw a sorrowful picture there. 
In a chamber in one of the most pretentious houses 
on Beacon Hill, in the city of Boston, a lady hardly 
past middle age, who must in health have been very 
beautiful, lay dying. 

A minister, two physicians, and several weeping 
friends were near, and the former was speaking 
words which he hoped would comfort her, or lessen 
the agony of that dread moment. 

The physicians had endeavored to get her to take 
an opiate to lessen her pains, which were wearing 
her out, but she would not, but kept crying out : 

“Oh, my daughter! She will come — I know she 
will come to forgive me before I die. I want all my 
senses. I want to tell her what I have suffered 
through my false pride. Her father is dead— died 
praying that he might only see and bless his child. 
And must I die, too, without seeing her? Oh, no. 
God is too merciful. Pray— oh, pray, minister of 
God, that she be spnt tp me before I die.’' 


178 


BEAUTIFUL BUT PO OB. 


And her white, thin lips moved all the time he 
knelt in prayer. 

And before he arose to his feet, while the others, 
kneeling, listened and wept, a wild, glad cry broke 
from that mother’s lips. 

“She is coming ! My Georgiana is coming ! I heard 
a carriage stop at the door. It is she — thank Heaven, 
it is my daughter!” 

How a mother’s ear, even when that mother was 
on her death-bed, could hear what no one else had 
heard, how she could feel so certain her child was 
near, is beyond our ken. But it was so. 

A minute, scarcely that, had elapsed when the 
door softly opened, and mother and child wept in 
each other’s arms. 

It was a holy scene. No word of recrimination, no 
breath of the past, only this : 

“Mother, dear mother!” 

“My child ! God bless my only child — my love !” 

There was not a dry eye in the room — those who 
had wept with grief before over a dying friend, now 
wept with joy to think her eyes had not closed be- 
fore that meeting — that reconciliation took place. 

But the physicians knew that the strength of Mrs. 
Lonsdale could not last — that the spark so near gone, 
flashing up, could last but little longer. 

And the change began almost before they ex- 
pected it. 

We need not say that Georgiana Emeline Lons- 
dale was the real name of our heroine, but that was 
the name of the dying lady’s daughter, and that 
daughter was our heroine. 

“Eaise me up. Let me look at you. Oh, Georgiana 
—my dear— dear child!” gasped the mother. “I 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


179 


prayed but to live for this — and — God has been good. 
My will — here — under my pillow all the time!’’ 

The physicians pressed forward. With a moan of 
sorrow Georgiana pressed that wan face to her beat- 
ing heart. 

'‘Mother — mother — live for me,” she subbed. 
“Bless— blessed— child— thank God 1” 

“She lives forever in a brighter world,” said the 
minister, with touching solemnity. 

And our heroine, yet clasping that form, so dear 
that nothing of the past could come to mind, looked 
down on a smiling face frozen in the still snow of 
death. 

Gently the kind friends removed her clasp, ten- 
derly the good pastor said : 

“Blessed is He who gives. Blessed is He who 
takes away.” 

Long, long the poor girl wept, and would not be 
comforted. What to her was the costly mansion, 
furnished as few other houses in the city were 
adorned? What to her a bank account second to 
few in Boston? What to her, horses, carriages, old 
family plate, jewels that had been owned generation 
after generation by her ancestors, now all her own? 
Her father, ever kind, her mother, with whom she 
had parted in anger when she chose a heart’s idol, 
all too early cast down, were gone — forever gone 
from earth. 

It was well her sorrow found relief in tears. She 
wept until exhausted, and then herself needing a 
physician, she sank to sleep. She had not till then 
slept one moment since the night before she started 
from Hew York. 


180 


BEAVTIFUL BUT POOB. 


CHAPTEE XXXVII: 

HOW THE NEWS WAS RECEIVED. 

Mr. W was up and out bright and early that 

Sunday morning, anxious to see the Sunday papers, 
daily and weekly, most of which he knew did not 
go to press till late in the night, or rather early in 
the morning, and he hoped from these to hear some- 
thing about the storm on the Sound — something to 
assure him of the safety of the one who was first 
and foremost in his thoughts. All that he could 
find in these papers was that just as they were clos- 
ing up their columns to go to press a fearful gale 
was blowing from the northeast, and that disasters 
on the Sound and all along the Atlantic coast might 
be expected. But none had been heard from yet. 
All the Sound line steamers left at their regular 
hour, and must meet and face the gale en route. 

And this was’ all he could learn without tele- 
graphic news came of sufficient importance to cause 
the issue of extras. ISTervously he watched for these, 
and at last, not far from noon — a little after it — he 
heard a street Arab shouting : 

’Ere’s yer extra. ^ Ere’s news o’ the big storm!” 

He rushed out into the street, tore a paper out of 
the hand of the yelling urchin, threw him a quarter, 
and then read the heading in startling capitals ; 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OB, 

TERRIBLE STORM I 


181 


WKECKS ALL ALONG OUR COAST ! 


The Heroism of a Miss Hattie Butler Saves Over 
Four Hundred Lives on a Sound Steamer ! 


OUR OWN REPORTER WAS ON BOARD THE ENDANGERED 
AND NEARLY WRECKED STEAMER. 


[Full Particulars by Telegraph.] 

For a little while he was so blinded that he could 
not read another word, a mist seemed to come be- 
tween him and the paper. But in a little time a re- 
action came. He grew calm, and then he read a 
long and thrilling telegraphic report of the storm, 
how the vessel, swept by adverse currents, ran far 
out of her course, and while battling with a most 
terrible tempest in a sea which deluged her decks, 
was on the very point of running on shore, when a 
young lady who had preferred to watch the wild 
grandeur of the storm rather than to rest in the 
shelter of her state-room, had, while clinging to the 
stays near the pilot-house, discovered the danger 
neither pilots nor captain could see, rushed to the 
pilot-house and given the alarm only barely in time 
to have the course altered, the engines reversed, and 
the boat backed. 

The name of the heroine who had saved the ves- 
sel and so many precious lives was Miss Hattie But- 
ler, a passenger going from New York to Boston. 
Further particulars would be sent by mail, written 


182 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


out in full by the reporter wlio had witnes&ed all 
that had occurred, and would interview the lady if 
possible. 

‘‘She is safe! Oh, I thank the gracious Father 
she is safe!’’ was all that Edward W said. 

Her life, even though she might never be his, was 
more precious far to him than his own. 

The news was too good to keep. He knew that 
there were others who would rejoice to hear it. He 
hailed and engaged a passing cab, and with the 
paper yet clasped in his hand, ordered the driver to 
go as fast as he could to Ho. — Fifth avenue. The 
more haste he made the better he would be paid. 

Any one who knows what a Hew York cabman is 
can fancy how those poor old horses were lashed 
forward under that promise. Mr. Bergh, luckily for 
the driver, did not see him, and thus in about half 

an hour Mr. W stood on the steps of the Legare 

mansion, and the cabman drove back at a slow walk 
with a ten-dollar bill in his pocket, about one-fifth 
of which would reach his employer’s hands that 
night when he rendered in his day’s work. 

In a few seconds Mr. W was in the library, 

where the servant told him he would find ]\Ir. Le- 
gare, and by the time he got there Frank, Lizzie, 
Mrs. Emory, and even Little Jessie were in the room, 
for they had seen him alight from the cab, and 
feared he had brought bad news. 

“Have you heard from Miss Butler? Is she safe?” 
cried Mrs. Emory. 

“Don’t speak if she’s lost— don’t— don’t !” screamed 
Lizzie, for, seeing how pale he looked, she feared the 
worst. 

“If she’s dead I’ll die, too,” moaned Frank. 

“She is not only safe, but her heroism has made 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


183 


her immortal. She has saved over four hundred 

lives/’ cried Mr. W , waving the paper in his 

hand. ‘‘I came as fast as I could to be the first to 
bring the glad news.” 

“Oh, you dear, dear fellow!” screamed Lizzie, and 
she threw both her white plump arms about his 
neck, and kissed him again and again. 

“I don’t care if all the world sees me,” she added, 
as Frank cried out : 

“Oh, Lizzie!” 

And Little Jessie kissed Mr. W , too, and cried 

while she did it, and no doubt Mrs. Emory would 
have willingly done the same if it would have done ' 
him any good and been within the bounds of pro- 
priety. 

Mr. Legare said in his happy way : 

“Bless my soul, Mr. W , you seem to have 

turned the folks all topsy-turvy, but I don’t blame 
you. The news is gloriously good. I always liked 
that girl. And, mark me, she’ll turn out to be some- 
thing more than a bindery girl yet.” 

“You 'just bet she will,” cried Frank. “If I knew 
where to find her I’d go to Boston to-night.” 

“What for, Frank?” asked his sister, now com- 
pletely herself again. 

“To tell her you kissed Mr. W right before us 

all,” said Frank, determined to get even with Lizzie 
now if he could. 

“You might tell her, too, while you were about 
it, that I was only sorry he didn’t kiss me back,” 
said Lizzie, so saucily that the laugh was all on her 
side. 

“But really, Mr. W ,” she added, “you must 

think I was very bold. But, to tell the truth, I 
thought at first you had come to tell us she was 


184 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


dead, and when I heard you say she was safe I was 
so glad that I really didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“‘Oh, that is a likely story, when you were cool 
enough to notice that he didn’t kiss you back 
again,” cried Frank. 

“An oversight for which I humbly beg pardon,” 
said Mr. W . 

Frank was even now, and Mr. W had helped 

him, for which the young man felt decidedly grate- 
ful. 

Lizzie acknowledged the victory, for she blushed, 
and made no reply. 

Mr. W now read the entire report aloud, and 

said he had no doubt the fullest particulars would be 
had in the morning papers. 

“Dear me,” sighed Frank, when he heard this, 
“she will be made so much of now in Boston where 
live heroines are scarce, that I’m afraid she’ll never 
come back to see us.” 

Mr. W whispered something to Lizzie, who 

laughed heartily, and then said : 

“Frank, if she only knew you were just dying to 
see her — you, the heir to millions, and not so bad 
looking either — she’d never sleep till she got here.” 

“Oh, you traitor! you told her just what I said to 
you at our club-rooms,” said Frank, shaking his 
finger at Mr W . 

And so Lizzie had the laugh on her side now. 

Mr. Legare insisted on Mr. W remaining to 

dinner, and then he would take him home in his 
own carriage. 

Lizzie, with an appealing look, j oined in the in- 
vitation, and Mr. W remained. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


185 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

AN IMPORTANT DISPATCH. 

When Edward W got home that night he 

found two angry girls up to meet him. His sisters, 
Flotie and Anna, their dark eyes flashing, each with 
an ‘ ‘extra’ ^ in her hand, met him as he entered the 
sitting-room in his usual quiet way. 

“So! So, Master Ned! you think you can keep a 
secret from us, don’t you?” cried Flotie, shaking the 
paper in his face. 

“Yes; we asked you if the ‘G. E. L.’ who was 
wanted to go to a dying mother wasn’t your Hattie 
Butler, and here she turns out a heroine on a Boston 
steamer. Oh, you hypocrite! you knew all about 
her going all the time.” 

“Yes, I’ll wager a box of gloves you did,” said 
Flotie. 

“Now, own up, and we’ll forgive you,” said Anna, 
in a coaxing tone. 

“What do you want me to own up, sis?” 

“That^G. E. L. and Hattie Butler are one and the 
same,” said Flotie. “You needn’t deny it, for we’re 
sure of it.” 

“Well, if it will make you any happier, let it go 
so.” 

“And that you knew she was going on that very 
boat,” added Anna. 

“If that will set your mind any more at ease, I 
knew it.” 

“Then why didn’t you tell us last night?” said 
Flotie, and her big black eyes fairly snapped. 

“And why did you leave it just to chance for us to 


186 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


find it out? We saw you buying an extra, and call 
a cab, and drive off like mad up town, and we each 
got one ; and so you see you are caught. Master Ed- 
ward.” 

‘‘So it appears. Have you done with your cate- 
chism? If so I’ll go to my room and prepare for 
rest.” 

“We’re not done yet,” said Flotie. “What name 
do the initials G. E. L. stand for?” 

“I do not know.” 

“Brother Edward, that fib will never do. If you 
know a part of her secret you know all.” 

“You are very much mistaken, my sister. I know 
but little, very little, of Miss Butler or her life be- 
yond the bindery, and the little I do know she has 
given me confidentially, and so it will be kept.” 

“Very well, sir. Good-night. You can go to bed 
without your kiss.” 

“The punishment is severe, sister dear, but I sub- 
mit.” 

And Edward marched away to his room smiling, 
while his sisters pouted, yet wanted to call him back 
for the kiss of affection which never was forgotten 
when they were about to separate for the night. 

The next morning Mr. W rose unusually early, 

took his coffee and a slice of toast, and left the 
house on his way to the bindery before his sisters 
were up. 

He bought a paper at the nearest news-stand, and 
while riding down town in a street car read a long 
and well-written narrative of a sub-editor’s experi- 
ence in a storm. 

The heroism of Miss Hattie Butler, and the mod- 
esty which made her refuse to be interviewed or in 
any way recompensed for what she had done, was 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


187 


commented on in brilliant terms. She had done this 
incalculable service, and then completely with- 
drawn from notice, and no one knew whither she 
had gone. 

‘‘It was so like her.” 

That was all Mr. W said. But in it he paid 

her the highest compliment. 

He found, on his arrival at the bindery, all who 
had come, the foreman and a good part of the hands, 
in a great state of excitement. 

They had all seen either the extras of the day be- 
fore, or got the morning papers. And the question 
among them all was, was the Hattie Butler alluded 
to the one who worked in the bindery. None of 
them, not even the foreman, had known of her leav- 
ing town, for Mr. W , on Saturday night, had not 

thought it necessary to speak of it, and would not 
have done so now, except to his foreman, but for 
the questions of his work-people. 

But now, with a pride he had no wish to control, 
he told them it was their Hattie Butler — that she 
had been suddenly called away to the bedside of a 
sick relative in Boston, and that she was on the boat 
when she played the heroine so grandly. 

It was a wonder to see how proud those poor shop- 
workers felt. That one of their own class, as they 
regarded her, should suddenly become so famous, 
seemed like an individual triumph to each of them. 

“Is Mr. Edward W here?” cried a messenger- 

boy, rushing up to the door. “Here’s a dispatch 
from Boston— marked private and very important!” 


188 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MR. JONES PROMOTED. 

“A dispatch for me?’’ cried Mr. W . 

“Yes, sir. Here it is, prepaid, O. K., all hunky, 

and so forth,” cried the lad, and as Mr. W took 

the dispatch, away he went, on the run, to deliver 
more. 

Mr. W , to the disappointment of Mr. Jones 

and the others, did not open and read his dispatch 
then and there, but, with a pale face, and quick, 
nervous step, went with it, unopened in his hand, 
to his office, and shut himself in. And there he read 
these strange and startling words : 

“Xo — Beacon St., Boston. 

“Kindest of Friends Both my parents are dead. 
My mother, reconciled, died, blessing me. There is 
a very large estate to receive, and I alone can ar- 
range for its care in my absence, for I shall return 
to my position, and occupy it until you return, suc- 
cessful or not, from that mission to California. Par- 
don the suggestion that you go on immediately. 
You will find me at the bindery when you come 
back. Keep the confidence I bestowed upon you, 
especially as to what I send in this dispatch, even 
from the friends on Fifth avenue. Only say to all I 
am well, and will soon return. 

“Faithfully yours, G. E. L.” 

“[Answer.]” 

“Wonderful ! What a comprehensive dispatch !” 

murmured Mr. W , as he folded it and placed it 

inside his pocket-book. 

And, writing this answer, he sealed and sent it at 
once to the telegraph office : 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


189 


‘‘G. E. L., No. — Beacon St., Boston: 

‘‘Your dispatch received. Every wish expressed 
shall be faithfully carried out. I will leave to-mor- 
row for California, and return as soon as my mission 
is fulfilled. ' Edward W 

And when the dispatch was gone, Mr. W 

went out to his foreman, and said : 

“Mr. Jones, I have heard from Miss Butler. She 
is well. Her mother is dead. She will remain in 
Boston a few days, and then return to her duties 
here. You are at liberty to say this to our people 
here. To-morrow I shall leave for California, to es- 
tablish a branch bindery there. You will remain in 
charge here. Father will come down to see you 
once in a while, perhaps ; but he will not interfere 
with the work. When Miss Butler returns give her 
all the time she wishes out of the bindery, and make 
her duties easy and pleasant as you can. She is a 
noble girl.” 

“That she is, Mr. W . I’m sorry you are going, 

but I will do my very best while you are gone, and 
try to keep everything moving brisk and right.” 

“I know you will, Mr. Jones. I have every con- 
fidence in you. I also increase your wages on the 
pay-roll ten dollars a week in consequence of your 
increased responsibilities. Miss Butler had better 
come into the office with her work now, and she 
will help you with the pay-rolls. I shall leave checks 
to an amount which will keep you square with the 
hands, no matter what comes in. If more stock is 
wanted father will see to it.” 

“Oh, Mr. W , you are too good. Ten dollars a 

week more will make the little woman at home feel 
as rich as a Vanderbilt.” 

“So much the better, Mr. Jones. Your baby is 


190 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


growing, and so will your expenses increase. Go on 
with everything. I have a great deal to do to get 
ready — have to go home, &.nd up town to see Mr. 
Legare, and shall be out most of the day.” 

“I’ll do my best, sir, and I think I’ll please you,” 
said the happy foreman, as he turned and left the 
office. 

Within ten minutes the news had spread all over 
the shop. There was a little buzz of excitement, but 
the discipline of the establishment was perfect, and 
the work went on as steadily and smoothly as ever. 

Mr. W spent an hour or more over his books 

and pay-rolls, then he wrote and sealed a long letter, 
which was to be given to Miss Butler when she re- 
turned, and a separate open note, asking her to take 
a table in the office when she came back, and to 
help Mr. J ones with his accounts and pay-rolls. 

This done, Mr. Jones was again cabled, the letters 
handed to him, all explanations made, and then Mr. 

W left for his home to make preparations there, 

and have a small trunk packed with necessary 
clothing, and to go up to Fifth avenue to carry the 
news, which he was permitted to reveal, from Miss 
Butler, as she was still to be known until she chose 
to throw off her incognito, and to tell them of his 
sudden intention to leave for California, to there 
extend his business. 

His own family, having often discussed this trip to 
California, were not at all surprised at his decision 
to start at once, for he was one of those prompt, de- 
cisive men in business who take things sharply and 
move without making any noise about it. 

His father gave him a little advice, and an un- 
limited letter of credit. 

His sisters wept a little, but packed his trunk 


BEAUTIFUL BVT POOR. 


191 


nicely, for though they often had little jars with 
him, he was a good brother, and very dear to them. 

When he had seen to all these things, and knew 
that he was ready to start on the earliest train next 
day, he took the carriage and rode up to the man- 
sion of Mr. Legare. 

All were at home, and his welcome, as usual, was 
cordial. 

‘‘Any further news from my dear, dear friend 
was the first question that left the lips of Lizzie. 

“Of course he has. She’d let him know how she 
was, before any of us!” said Frank, almost too jeal- 
ous to live. 

“As her oldest acquaintance in the city, perhaps 
she thinks me the one that she ought to communi- 
cate with, especially as her business is with our 

firm,” said Mr. W , gravely. “But in a dispatch 

that I received this morning, announcing the death 
of her mother, and asking a few days longer leave 
of absence, in consequence, she begged fne espec- 
ially to come up here, tell her friends she was well, 
and would spon return to New York, and would 
make her first and only call away from business on 
them.” 

“Oh, thank you — thank you, Mr. W . All read 

the paper this morning. Frank says he don’t know 
hardly how to begin, but he means to write a ro- 
mance about it. He is going to call it ‘The Angel 
of the Storm; or. The Pilot’s Timely Warning.’ ” 

“That will sound very grand,” said Mr. W , 

with a smile. “It seems to me I saw a dime novel, 
published by one of our city small fry, called ‘The 
Angel of the Washtub— a Komance of Soap-Suds 
and Starch.’ It must have sold hugely.” 


192 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


‘‘There you are laughing at me again!” said 
Frank. 

“No, brother, he is only encouraging you in your 
first literary effort. Every one must have a start, 
you know, even if it is down hill.” 

Mrs. Emory came into the room now with Jessie^ 
and the latter ran and shook hands with the friend 
of her dear Hattie. 

Mr. W told Mrs. Emory that he had heard from 

Hattie. She was well, and would soon return, and 
then, the elder Legare coming in, he broached the 
subject of his going to California. 

Frank’s eyes fiashed joyfully when he heard of it, 

for he was, in truth, fearfully jealous of Mr. W , 

and he thought if the latter was^ absent he might 
stand some chance to win the affections of Hattie, 
whom he thought he loved more than ever since 
her heroism had made her famous. ' 

Lizzie seemed sorry, and asked if his intention had 
not been formed suddenly. But he told her it had 
not. His father had long desired to have him go, 
and he had come to the conclusion that the sooner 
he went the better. 

He spent but an hour there with those pleasant 
friends, and then, on the plea of preparing for his 
departure, bade them farewell. 


X 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOR. 


193 


CHAPTER XL. 

CAPTAIN SMITH. 

Hattie— or, as we should call her in her own 
home, Georgiana Lonsdale — with her force of 
character, knew that it was wrong to give away to 
unavailing grief, and with a strong effort she 
aroused herself to the action so necessary after her 
mother’s death. 

The family physician, and the attorney who had » 
done her father’s business for years before he died — 
both old and true friends— and the clergyman also, 
offered all the aid in their power, and the funeral 
ceremonies were arranged according to the desire of 
the deceased lady as expressed in her will, found 
where she had told her daughter it was, almost with 
her last breath. 

As we already know. Miss Lonsdale, under her 

own initials, telegraphed to Mr. W the moment 

she was able to think what she could and should do. 

After her mother was buried by the side of her fa- 
ther in the family cemetery, Georgiana at once be- 
gan to arrange everything for an absence again, for 
a time, from her home. She caused two bequests 
of her mother, to charitable institutions, to be paid, 
even before the legal steps of administration were 
complied with, so anxious was she to carry out her 
mother’s desire. 

Leaving the care of the estate to the long tried 
and faithful attorney, she arranged that with only 
servants to keep the house in order, and ready for 
her occupancy when she came, the old housekeeper 
should remain there. The carriages were stored in 


194 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


the carriage-house, and the horses all sent off to be 
kept on a farm near Amherst, which belonged to 
the estate, the old family coachman going along to 
take care of them until he should be wanted again 
on Beacon Hill. 

Georgiana took sufficient time for all these details, 
for she felt at rest in her mind after she received 
the telegram from Mr W . 

When everything was arranged to suit her, 
dressed plainly but very neatly in her mourning 
garments, she made ready to return to her humble 
position, and to carry out the plans which she had 
laid down. 

Captain Smith, standing by the gangway-plank of 
his steamer, was surprised one day to see her come 
on board, and grasping her extended hand, he cried 
out: r 

“Heaven bless you, young lady. There’s a little 
woman who never goes to bed at night now, without 
a thankful prayer on her lips for Miss Hattie But- 
ler, who saved a loving husband for her. And a girl, 
almost as old as you, but not half as handsome, and 
four other children, who have your name on their 
lips, and who speak of nothing but the hope that 
they will some day meet you and be able to thank 
you for keeping a father on earth for them, through 
the mercy of the Father above.” 

All this the captain was saying as he led our 
heroine to the best state-room on the boat, and told 
her, too, that there was every promise of a beautiful 
night ahead, and a fine run. 

“You found that my card took the place of 
tickets, didn’t you?” he asked, as he called the 
chambermaid to wait on one whom he considered a 
guest rather than a passenger. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


195 


‘^You’ll forgive me, captain, I know,’’ she an- 
swered, “when I tell you I gave your card to a poor 
weeping widow woman whose pocket had been 
picked in the depot, and who had not even a ticket 
to come on with.” 

Georgiana did not add that she gave the poor 
woman fifty dollars in cash also. 

“It was just like you, and I can’t blame you. I’d 
have helped her myself,” said the good captain. 
“It’s a kind of a Smith’s failing to put their hands 
in their pockets when they see any one in distress, 
and not to take their hands out of their pockets 
empty.” 

And now, having his duties to perform, the cap- 
tain excused himself, and our heroine made herself 
comfortable for the trip. 

When the steamer started, our heroine went upon 
the upper deck to enjoy the air and view, and hav- 
ing asked the captain as a favor not to speak of her 
being the person who had notified him of his danger 
on that stormy trip, she felt safe from undue notice. 

But she was^ recognized by both the pilots, who 
raised their hats when she approached the pilot- 
house, and presently, when the captain came up, he 
gave her a chair inside the house, whence she could 
look and enjoy herself without feeling the cold wind 
that blew in from seaward. 

Had not the captain and pilots, as requested, been 
cautious, our heroine would have been lionized, so 
to speak, on that trip, for there was an unusual num- 
ber of passengers. 

There was only one passenger on board who did 
approach her, and that was the grateful widow 
whom she had relieved in her dire distress. 


19G 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Hattie’s welcome. 

‘^Sakes alive, here she is ! We were just a-talkin’ 
about you, me and Biddy here, for Germany can’t 
talk no more’n a cat to us.” 

That was the welcome Miss Scrimp gave to Hattie 
Butler as she opened the door on the morning of her 
arrival in New York. 

“Good-morning, Miss Scrimp,” said the latter, in 
her ever quiet, lady-like way. “I have returned, 
you see.” 

“Yes’m, and I’m glad of it. I missed you so much. 
The girls have all been wild over what the papers 
said about you savin’ so many lives on the steamer. 
Was it all so?” 

“I suppose it was. Miss Scrimp.” 

“Sakes alive ! Have you been to breakfast?” 

“Yes; I took breakfast on the boat. The captain 
insisted on it. ” 

“Well, it’s lucky, for the girls did eat so hearty 
this morning there isn’t much left, and it’s all cold 
before this time. There comes Biddy — she’s heard 
your voice.” 

“Oh, you born angel!” cried Biddy, running up to 
Hattie and giving her a real, warm Celtic hug. 
“I’ve got the new dress all made up — a real warrum 
one for winter wear, d’ye see. The mistress has 
hers, but it’s silk, and I’d rather have mine twice 
over. Shall I get ye’s a real nice cup of coffee? I 
can make it quick.” 

“No, thank you, Biddy. I’ll run up to my room a 


BEA UTIFUL BUT PO OR. 197 

little while, and then I am going up town on a visit. 
I shall not go to the bindery until to-morrow.’’ 

“Why, you’re in mournin’ ! Sakes alive, I didn’t 
notice that till this minute. I was so glad to see you. 
Who’s dead, dear?” asked Miss Scrimp. 

“My mother!” answered Hattie, choking down a 
sob as she started up stairs for her room. 

“Her mother! Poor thing! I’ll be a mother to 
her now!” said Miss Scrimp, thinking of that thou- 
sand dollar check most likely. 

Hattie found everything in her room as she had 
left it. She had long before had the lock put on her- 
self, and it was one which no other key in the house 
fitted, or Miss Scrimp might have explored her 
apartment in her absence. 

The young lady remained up stairs but a short 
time, and when she came out she took an up town 
street car, and started to see her kind friends, the 
Legares and Mrs. Emory, as well as dear Little Jes- 
sie Albemarle. 

When she arrived there, such a welcome met her ! 
Lizzie, Mrs. Erfiory, and Jessie covered her with 
kisses. Mr. Legare pressed her hand warmly, and 
poor Frank stammered and blushed, and hardly 
knew what he said, though he tried to be very po- 
lite, and at the same time very ardent in his expres- 
sions of pleasure at seeing her once more. 

And he hurried to inform her that Mr. W had 

gone to California. 

“One rival out of the way!” he said to himself. 

But his hopes went below zero when she calmly 
told him she knew he was going before she left 
town, and he had telegraphed to her when he was 
on the point of starting. 

“They’re engaged. I know they are!” groaned 


198 


BE A UTIFUL BUT PO OPi. 


Frank to Lizzie, while Hattie was telling Mrs. 
Emory of the death of her mother. 

‘‘Who, you goose?’’ asked Lizzie. “What are you 
ready to blubber out a crying for?” 

“^ed W would never have telegraphed to her 

all about his going off if they weren’t engaged !” al- 
most sobbed Frank. 

“Pooh ! What is it to us, anyway?” 

“To me, who is almost dying for her love— to me 
it’s everything. I tell you plain, sister, if Hattie But- 
ler will not have me, I’ll go and enlist as a private 
soldier in the army, and get killed by Indians, or 
I’ll ship in a whaler, and fall overboard and break 
my neck!” 

“Or swallow a whale like Jonah did,” said Lizzie, 
laughing. “Don’t be foolish, Frank. If she’ll only 
love you, it will all come right, and if she will not — 
why, you wouldn’t want to marry a girl without 
love!” 

“No,” said Frank, with some^ hesitation. Then he 
added: “If she loves him she can’t love me. I wish 
he was dead. Who is she in mourning for?” 

“Her mother. I heard her tell Aunt Louisa so a 
few seconds ago.” 

“Poor thing! I wish father would adopt her. No, 
I don’t either, for then she’d be my sister, and I 
want her for my wife.” 

Hattie now had a hundred questions to answer 
about the storm, and the steamer, which she did 
cheerfully. 

After dinner Frank had the glory of escorting her 
home in the family carriage alone — Lizzie pleading a 
headache, just to give the poor boy a chance to 
make love to Hattie if he could. 

But he never opened his mouth from the time he 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


199 


left home till he set her down at the door of her 
boarding-house. He couldn’t have done it to save 
his life. He had caught the love-fever in dead 
earnest. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

FOUND. 

Mr. W stayed but three days in San Fran- 

cisco. Advertising for a foreman and hands, he 
was soon overrun with applicants, and had plenty to 
choose from — good, sober, reliable men. Good m£^- 
terials, too, were plenty to begin with, and in just 
three days the great “Occidental Book Bindery” of 

E. W & Son was advertised in every paper in 

San Francisco, and the shop in full blast. 

And the same evening Mr. W took the Sacra- 

mento boat, and was speeding on his way to Oro- 
ville, where he was to meet the agent and banker of 
Wells, Fargo & Co., and take his final departure in 
search of the “Mountain Home,” which he had 
seen in the sketch spoken of long ago, and a copy of 
which was in the letter of instructions which he car- 
ried from our Hattie. 

From Sacramento by rail Mr. W dashed on 

toward Feather River, and before noon he was at 
the old National Hotel, with a dozen Chinamen at 
hand ready to dust him off, wash his clothes, or pick 
his pockets if the chance came around. 

From the polite clerk he soon learned the location 
of Wells, Fargo Sc Co.’s office and bank, and in a 
short time he was in the private office of the latter. 

With his letter of introduction extended, he in- 
troduced his name, and was met with that cordial, 


200 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOB. 


open-handed, open-hearted welcome which the 
stranger ever gets in California. 

To Mr. Morrison, the agent— a splendid young 

man— Mr. W opened his business, asking if he 

knew a Mr. Harry Porchet, who was mining on the 
uppermost claim on Feather River. 

‘T know all of him that any one can know,’’ said 
Mr. Morrison. ‘‘He is a very singular young man — 
ever sad and melancholy, strictly temperate, not 
even touching wine, using no tobacco, seeking no 
company. I tried to get him to stay a few days at my 
home ; and once, when he came to deposit his gold, 
as he does every three months, induced him to take 
tea with me, where I thought my Sister Annie, one of 
the most gifted girls on this coast, and a fine conver- 
sationalist, might draw him out of his melancholy 
mood. But it was no use. He was polite and gen- 
tlemanly, but he would not thaw, as we say out 
here.” 

“I must find him,” said Mr. W , with a sigh; 

for he felt as if he was sealing his own fate as a 
single man forever, if he found this young man all 
that he was represented to be, and called him out 
from the shadow of his gloomy exile into the sun- 
light of Georgiana Lonsdale’s presence. 

“I will get you mules and a guide, for there is no 
other means of travel when you get into the moun- 
tains up Feather River,” said Mr. Morrison; “and, 
as you cannot start with everything ready, camping 
fit-out and all, before morning, take tea with me 
to-night.” 

Mr. W consented, and when that evening he 

met the sister of the young banker and express 
agent, saw and viewed her wonderful beauty, and 
heard her sing songs of her own composition, ac- 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


201 


companied on piano and guitar, he thought that if 
young Porchet could be so blind to those attractions, 
he was indeed true to the love he left behind him. 

The next morning Mr. W , with an old moun- 

tain man for a guide, on a sure-footed mule, with 
two others in the train carrying provisions and 
stores, started on the perilous journey. 

All day, creeping slowly along narrow trails, now 
on a ledge barely wide enough for the mule-path, 
overhanging the wild rushing river a thousand feet 
below — then pressing through chaparral so tnick the 
animals could just get ahead — now shivering just 
below the snow range on a wind-swept ridge, then 
pitching down into a mining gulch full of busy men 
all grimy with yellow dirt — on they went the entire 
day long, halting but an hour at noon to give the 
mules a little barley and themselves a scanty lunch. 

That night they camped in a grove of tall sugar 
pines, a little way back from the river, and over the 

camp-fire Mr. W listened to thrilling stories of 

what California life was in M9, when every one 
who came was piad with the greed for gold — when 
vice and crime ran hand in hand, life only held by 
the pistol-grip or knife-point, and property held 
more by might than right. 

Early next day they were on the move up stream, 
now obliged to follols^ the river bank as near as pos- 
sible, for the snowy range of the Sierra Nevada rose 
high above their heads. 

At noon they came to a lonely little valley, not 
two acres in extent, shaded at one end by half a 
dozen trees and a huge overhanging precipice. 

Here two fat, sleek mules fed undisturbed, and as 
they rode up near them, the guide pointed to a pack 


202 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


and riding-saddle hanging side by side under the 
cliff. 

‘‘Here we camp. The man I seek is within a mile 
of this place, but no one outside of him ever went 
over the trail that reaches his claim, so far as I can 

learn,’’ said Mr. W , carefully looking over his 

map, sketch, and letter of instruction. “I will lunch, 
and then, leaving you here, try to find him.” 

The guide assented. He had never been up the 
river quite so far before, and, old hand as he was in 
the mountains, he did not want to go any farther. 

Half an hour later Mr. W left, heading for a 

black patch of chaparral that seemed to hang on the 
side of a fearful cliff. 

He was gone over two hours, and he came back in 
a fearful stage of agitation. 

“My friend is found,” he said. “But I fear that 
the joy of the news I carried him has killed him. I 
found him sick — very low. Thinking it would re- 
vive him, I broke my news too suddenly. I left him 
in a death-like swoon, and I could not revive him. 
Come with me quickly. I will pay you treble our 
agreement if we can only get him out safe, where I 
can get medical aid. ” 

The guide did not hesitate a second. He was 
rough, but all heart. His name was Hal Westcott. 

After a fearful climb, which took them all of 
thirty minutes, the two men stood breathless on the 
plateau we saw in the sketch in front of the log 
cabin and above the whirl of milk-white waters. 

“I almost dread to go in lest he be dead,” said Mr. 
W . 

The guide pushed forward without a pause. 

“Zep! He is worth a thousand dead men!” cried 
bluff Hal Westcott. “He is sitting up.’^ 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


203 


He was reading her blessed letter of recall. He 
was thin as a shadow, white with suffering and 
hunger, too, for he had been parched and dried up 
with fever, and had not touched food for days. 

‘‘But I am better,” he said. “I will live now. I 
did not care to live till this came.” 

And he kissed the letter, while tears ran down his 
thin, wasted face. 

The two strong men literally wept over him, while 
they hurried to make weak broth and boil some rice 
and water for his drink. 

Two days — their mules resting and feeding in the - 
glade below — they tended and nursed him, and 
watched over him with such care as few suffering 
men ever got in a bleak place like that. 

Then, handling him almost as they would have 
done an infant, they got him down to the other 
camp ; and they took the gold and his arms and 
packed them down also, so as to be ready to start 
for the outside world on the third day. 

It would be a long, perhaps a dry story to tell in 
detail were I td describe that journey out. It had 

taken W and his guide but a day and a half to 

come in. Yet it was four days after their start when 
poor Porchet was laid upon a nice cool bed in Belle 
Vista Cottage, as Mr. Morrison called his home. 

And within an hour after, Mr. W telegraphed 

to Miss Hattie Butler : 

“I have found him. He is all right— a noble and 
a true man. I love him as I would a brother. He 
has been sick, is weak yet, but we will start East in 
two or three days by the fastest trains. Your ever 
unchanging and unforgetting friend, 

“Edward.” 


204 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FOOB. 


He told Harry Porchet what he had done, and the 
latter said : 

“You are only too good. Heaven will reward you 
for it all, and make you happy.” 

Oh, how little did he realize that Edward W 

was sacrificing all his hopes of happiness in carrying 
back to her he loved the man whom she only could 
love. 

Tenderly cared for, and attended by the best phy- 
sician in Oroville, with good, kind nursing, it was 
no wonder that the, invalid was so soon ready to 
start out for the East. 

Edward W went down to San Francisco for a 

single day, to see that all things went well in the 
Occidental Bindery, and then returned ready to 
start eastward. 

The very next morning he telegraphed again : 

“We are coming. We leave Sacramento on the 
10 : 30 train. All well 1 ’ ^ 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


206 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

HATIIE LEAVES THE BINDERY. 

It was well for her chance of quiet that Hattie 
Butler took her place in the office, where none could 
invade without permission, when she returned to the 
bindery, for every one wanted to see and, if but for 
a moment, to speak to the heroine whom the papers 
had made famous. 

Even a reporter, and they are everywhere, heard 
she was there, and got as far as the office door to 
interview her. But Mr. Jones bravely stood there, 
paste-brush in hand, and saved her from the cruel 
infliction. 

And thus she lived on, day after day, until almost 
three weeks had passed, and then there came to her 
a telegram from the West. 

Oh, what a joyous look came over her face when 
she read it ! 

Jones said, when he told the little wife at home 
about it, that Miss Hattie looked just as she, the lit- 
tle wife, had looked when she stood up in church 
and promised to be his until death should them 
part. 

‘Hs it from the boss?’’ he asked. 

“Yes, yes, and such glorious news!” she cried. 

“Then he has got the bindery started?” asked 
Jones. 

“He says not one word about the bindery,” said 
Miss Butler, abruptly. 

And Jones was left to wonder what o'n earth the 
news could be that was so glorious, and yet not a 
word about the branch. 


206 BEAUTIFUL BUT POOH. 

He was completely nonplused, as a lawyer friend 
of mine said one day when he wanted me to think 
he knew Latin. 

For a few days more everything at the bindery 
went on as usual, and then there came another tele- 
gram. 

Miss Hattie looked exceedingly joyous over this, 
and now told Mr. Jones that the branch bindery 

was going nicely, and that Mr. W was coming 

home, and would be there in just seven days if no 
accident occurred on the way. 

And then she told him that she should close up all 
her work and leave the bindery on the next day. 
She would arrange his books and pay-rolls as she 
had been doing all the time, up to the end of the 
week, and then it would be easy for him to run mat- 
ters until Mr. W was in the shop again. 

Here was another poser for poor Mr. Jones. Why 
should Hattie Butler post off to Boston, as she said 

she was going there, when Mr. W. was expected 

home? 

“I thought she set a heap o’ store by him and he 
by her,” said Jones, talking it over to his wife. 
“And now when h6 is coming back, she puts right 
out as if she didn’t want to see him at all.” 

“It’s a sure sign she loves him — she is bashful 
like, as I was once,” said Mrs. Jones. “You’ll see. 
He’ll follow her to Boston, there’ll be a short bit o’ 

courtin’, and then a grand weddin’, and Mr. W 

will come back with his bride on his arm as proud as 
you was when you kissed me before the parson could 
get a chance.” 

And that was all the good woman knew about it. 

There was tribulation that night at the supper- 
table at Miss Scrimp’s. Hattie Butler, in a tone of 


BEAUTIFUL BUT FO OB. 


207 


deep feeling, told all the girl boarders she. was about 
to leave them forever. She called each one to her 
and kissed her, after supper, and gave her a gold 
ring, with the name of “Hattie” on it, as a remem- 
brance ; and she told them, while she thanked them 
for their ever kind feeling to her, she would not for- 
get them in the distant home to which she was 
going. If any of them ever was sick, or in distress, 
if they would send a note to Hattie Butler, care of 

Mr. W , at the bindery, it would reach her, and 

she would relieve them, for God had been good to 
her ; she was rich now, and willing to serve Him by 
sharing her riches with those who were in want or 
suffering. 

The girls kissed her, and wept over her. It 
seemed as if they could not let her go. 

For, in those long years, she had won the love of 
every one who knew her. Miss Scrimp alone ex- 
cepted. * 

That “old barnacle” (I got that idea from Roger 
Starbuck) couldn’t love anything but money and — 
her wretched old self. 

Miss Scrimp got no gold ring, but she got her bill 
in full, and a week over, as Hattie had run one day 
into another week, or rather would begin by taking 
breakfast in the morning. 

After this scene was over, Hattie went up to her 
room, got out her well-worn writing-desk, and wrote 
several notes, which we can judge of when one is 
taken as a specimen. 

That one was addressed to Miss Lizzie Legare. It 
ran thus : 

“Dear and Kind Friend: — You know there has 
been ever something raysterious about me— not 
wrong, yet a something which I could not fully ex- 


208 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


plain. In another note I have invited your father, 
brother, aunt, and Little Jessie, all to visit me at 
my home, No. — Beacon street, Boston, on the 
seventh day from to day, at four in the afternoon, 
to remain there as a guest that night and as long as 
you will. Darling, I have written at length to you 
— to the others, extended only an invitation. Mr. 

Edward W , his sisters and parents, will also be 

there, and a gentleman whom you have never seen. 
Come, darling, come. 

‘‘Lovingly, 

“Geoegiana E. Lonsdale, nee ‘Hattie Butler.’ ” 

Hattie — or, shall we call her Georgiana after this 
— was on her way to Boston when those notes went 
out to their several destinations, carrying wonder 
and surprise to each recipient. Even Captain Smith 
got one, in which he was told to bring his whole 
family, and Mr. Jones was not forgotten, nor the lit- 
tle woman and baby. 

In the Legare house there was wonder and joy in 
all but one heart. 

“I wonder who the gentleman is whom we have 
never seen?” moaned Frank. “It’ll be just my luck 
— there’ll be a wedding; she’ll be the bride, and I’ll 
be a shadow, standing back like cold beef alongside 
of hot turkey.” 

And there was yet more wonder with Edward 

W ’s sisters. But they vowed they’d go even if 

she had been a bindery girl. 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR, 


209 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THINE forever! 

In front of the finest mansion on Beacon Hill, 
though the chill of autumn was in the air and a 
northeast wind came cold from over the bay, an 
arch of hot-house fiowers was erected, covering the 
entrance to the walk, which led up through a yard 
ornamented with choice works in marble, to the 
carved door of the house. 

On this arch, in crimson fiowers, the word ‘Wel- 
come” was visible. 

Inside, servants well — even richly dressed— seemed 
to flit to and fro, and a lady, young and beautiful, 
robed for that day as richly as a royal queen, moved 
to and fro, seeing in person that everything was 
ready to receive the guests for whom the welcome 
was meant. 

The minister, who had been in that house on a 
sad, sad day, now stood by this young lady's side, 
looking dignified but happy. 

The old lawyer and many other friends was there, 
and more came along, as the day wore on, in grand 
carriages, the elite of the aristocratic old city. 

And now the hour — four o'clock — was close at 
hand. Her carriages had gone to the train to meet 
the guests who had been invited to come from Hew 
York — carriages for all. 

And she, who had been all this time fiushed and 
excited, now stood pale and nervous near the door. 
For a roll and rattle of wheels was heard, and a mo-, 
ment later a whole column of coaches dashed up in 
front of the house. 


210 


BEAUTIFUL BUT POOR. 


From the first stepped two men, and, arm in arm, 
they came under the arch, and never knight of crim- 
son cross looked so happy as did the younger, paler 
of the two, when he looked up and saw those words. 

But they could not pause— others were hurrying 
on behind and in front. He saw her at the door, and 
with a wild, glad cry, he was in her arms. 

“Georgiana — mine at last!” 

“Yes, yes, my Harry, thine forever!” 

A moment’s sobs of joy broke on the air, but then, 
arm in arm, they went on, while an unseen orches- 
tra played a brilliant march of joy and triumph. 

And then, in the great parlor, darkened outside, 
but blazing with light within, without waiting for 
more than a few words and whispered greetings, 
before the friends of bright days and the true friends 
of darker hours, Georgiana Lonsdale was married 
to the returned exile — to the man for whom she had 
dared her parents’ anger, whom she had so nearly 
lost — by his own fault, and who had come back to 
her redeemed. 

Edward W stood at his right hand, Lizzie Le- 

gare stood by her dear friend, and the ceremony, 
brief but impressive, was performed. "When it was 
over, all moved out to the banquet hall, and though 
no wine colored the cloth or tempted man to fall, a 
more delicious repast was never served. 

After it was over, at Georgiana’s request, her hus- 
band, noble and proud in his true reformation, told 
the listening guests the strange, strange story. He, 
that old attorney’s poor clerk, had met and loved 
Georgiana, the only child and heir of those rich 
parents. They had scorned him, for they had higher 
views for her— drove him from their door. She, in 
her love and pride, had vowed to be his, and to- 


BEAUTIFUL BUT BOOB. 


211 


gether they fled to New York, there to be united in 
wedlock. He, in his too exuberant joy, forgot his 
manhood, and when they should have been ready to 
stand up before the minister was too intoxicated to 
stand. 

Crushed and indignant, she waited until he was 
sober enough to realize what he had done, and then 
she told him to go forth and never, never to return 
until his manhood was redeemed, and he could stand 
a free man before his God, sworn and proven true 
in the full fruits of temperance. He went. She 
would not go back to the home she had left, but at 
once sought employment in the humblest line. 

There, dear reader, we found her. You have had 
the story. It is a strange one, but to a very great 
extent it is true. And, as a young writer, I can only 
hope it will do the good I wish it should do. That it 
will give courage to the weak, hope to the hopeless^ 
for no one is so lost or fallen but that a higher, bet- 
ter life may be reached. 

I suppose I may as well tell you, Mr. Edward 
is now trying to forget his first disappoint- 
ment in the smiles of sweet Lizzie Legare, and 
Frank has “gone West.’’ 

THE END. 


“MARJORIE DEANE,” by Bertha M. Clay, will 
be published in the next number (39) of The Select 
Series. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


By NEIL BURGESS. 


Written from the celebrated play now 
running its second continuous season in 
New York, and booked to run a third sea- 
son in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our “Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

^‘THE COUNTY FAIR ” will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
11' literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 

|j « ^ town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, with the same 
unique characters, the same graphic scenes, 
but wuth the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than 
than was possible in the brief limits of a dramatic representation. 
This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to pro- 
duce a novel which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, 
without the introduction of an impure thought or suggestion. Read 
the following 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 

Any person who can laugh as heartily as did the hig audience at the 
“County Fair” last evening will always enjoy good digestion.— A. Y. Herald. 

Neil Burgess in the “County Fair” has never done anything better than 
the gentle-hearted New England spinster, and is worthy of commendation. 
—A. r. World. 

There are many amusing lines and situations in the “County Fair.”— 
A. Y. Tribune. 

Tn Neil Burgess’ “County Fair” reproduction there is a great deal of pic- 
torial truthfulness.— A. Y. Sun. 

Words have been exhausted in praise of this admirable dramatic story 
of country life “down East.”— A. r. News. 

Neil Burgess as Miss Abigail Prue in the “County Fair” took a firm hold 
from the start.— A. r. Times. 

The “County Fair” audience is not taken away from the country, and 
from the first introduction to Rock Bottom farm to the race at the county 
fair the scenes are rural.— A. Y. Journal. 

“County Fair” touches the various chords of simple pathos and whole- 
'Oine humor.— A. Y. Press. 

Neil Burgess as Abigail Prue has forgotten none of those quaint manner- 
sms which have gained him fame as an impersonator of rustic female char- 
,icters.— A. Y. Telegram. 

From first to last he tickles the risibilities and appeals to the sympa- 
thies.— A. r. Conimereial Advertiser. 


The Connty Fa5r is No. 33 of “ The Select Series,” for sale by all 
Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 25 cents, to any ad- 
dress, postpaid, by Street & Smith, Publishers, 25-31 Rose st., N. Y. 


DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 


STKDET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES No. 28. 


£*rice, S5 Cents, 


Some Opinions of the Press. 

"Asthe probabilities are remote of the play ‘The Old Homestead’ being 
seen anywhere but in large cities it is only fair that the story of the piece should 
be printed. Like most stories written from plays it contains a great deal wJilch 
is not said or done on the boards, yet it is no more verbose than sucJi a story 
should be, and it gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tlldy, 
Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mythical Bill Jones, the sheriff and all the other char- 
acters are here, beside some new ones. It is to be honed that the book will make 
a large sale, not only on its merits, but that other play owners may feel encour- 
aged to let their works be read by the many thousands who cannot hope to see 
them on the stage.” — N. F. Herald, June 2d. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ is a story of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerated home; of a grand old man, honest and blunt, who 
loves his honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned in 
learning of the deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country life, love 
and jealousy, without an Impure thought, and with the healthy flavor of the 
fields in every chapter. It is founded on Denman Thompson s drama of ‘The 
Old Homestead,’ A. Y. Press, May 26th. 

" Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New TorTc Weelcly, have brought 
out in book-form the story of ‘ The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Mr. Denman Thompson, has met with jch wondrous success. It will proba 
bly have a great sale, thus justifying the foresight of the publishers in giving the 
drama this permanent Action form.”— A. Y. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

“ The popularity of Denman Thompson’s play of ‘The Old Homestead’ has 
encouraged street & Smith, evidently with his permission, to publish a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set in the same scenes and including the same charac- 
ters and more too. The book is a fair match lor the play in the simple good tasto 
and real ability with which it is written. The publishers are Street & Smith, and 
they have gotten the volume up in cheap popular form.”— A", F. Graphic, May 29. 

“Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ Is familiar, at least by rep- 
utation, to every play-goer in the country. Its truth to nature and its simple 
pathos have been admirably preserved in this story, which Is founded upon it 
and follows its incidents closely. The requirements of the stag^^ make the action 
a little hurried at times, but the scenes described are brought before the mind’s 
eye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life in the little New Eng- 
land town is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the play can get an 
excellent idea of what it Is like from the book. Both are free from sentimentality 
and sensation, and are remarkably healthy in Xx>ne."— Albany Express. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old Homestead’ has been put into story-form and is is- 
sued by Street & Smith. The story will somewhat explain to those who have not 
seen it the great popularity of the play.”— Aroo/cfj/n Times, June 8th. 

w “The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ is world-wide. 
Tens of thousands have enjoyed it, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
they took in its representation. This is the story told in narrative form as well 
as it was told on the stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they have seen the 
play or not,."— National Tribune, Washington, D. C. 

“Here we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the 
peaked roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear old Swanzey, and 
the story which, dramatized, has packed the largest theater in New York, and 
has been a success everywhere because of its true and sympathetic touches of 
nature. All the Incidents which have held audiences spell bound are here re- 
corded— the accusation of robbery directed against the innocent boy, his shame, 
and leaving home ; the dear old Aunt Tilda, who has been courted for thirty 
years by the mendacious Cy Prime, who has never had the courage to propose ; 
the fall of the country boy into the temptations of city life, and his recovery by 
the good old man who braves the metropolis to find him. The story embodies all 
that the play tells, and all that It suggests as weU .”— City Journal, 
May 27th. 


Bertha M. Clay’s 

Copyright Novels, 

IN* 

ThE Select Series. 


Fx:*loe, 25 OexxtiS lEIsioli. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 22-A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 

No. 28-A HEART’S IDOL. 

No. 36-THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER. 
No. 37-IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE. 

These novels are among the best ever written 
by bertha M. clay, and are enjoying an 
enormous sale. They are copyrighted and can 
be had only in THE SELECT SERIES. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 ROSE STREET, New York. 


P. O. Box 2734. 


STREET & SMITH'S SELECT SERIES 

OF 

POPULAK AMEEIOAN OOPTEIGHT STOEIES, 

BY POPULAB AUTHOBS. 

In Handsome l»aper Covers, S5 Cents. 


KTo. 1. 

A STORY OF POWER AND PATHOS. 


THE SENATOR’S BRIDE. 

By Mrs. ALEX. McVEIGH MT T.T.ER, 

Author of “Brunette and Blonde,” “Lady Gay’s Pride,” etc. 


This is a domestic story of deep interest, charmingly \Tritteu, 
with vigor and earnestness, and has not a dull scene in it. The 
author’s purpose is to portray nature ; she therefore avoids all 
extravagance, and relies entirely upon her ability to entertain 
her readers with the presentation of scenes and incidents that 
never surpass probability, yet are extremely captivating. 

The story of “The Senator’s Bride” is something more than 
a work of fiction. It contains a moral that is certain to be im- 
pressed upon all who follow the career of the wife who wrecked 
her happiness because she respected herself too much to deceive 
her husband. 

price, twenty-five cents. 

Issued in clean, large type, with handsome lithographed 
cover, and for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, to any address, on receipt of price, by the pub- 
lishers, 

STREET ac SiMZITH, 

P. 0- Box 2734. 31 Rose St.» New York. 


The Select Series 


A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION 

DEVOTED TO GOOD BEADING IN AMERICAN FICTION. 


PRICE 25 CENTS EACH. FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 




No. 37— IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 36— THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 35— CECILE’S MARRIAGE, by Lucy RandaU Comfort, 

No, 34— THE LITTLE WIDOW, by JuUa Edwards, 

No. 33— THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess. 

No. 32— LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma Garrison Jones, 
No. 31-MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke CoUins. 

No. 30- PRETTIEST OF ALL, by JuUa Edwards. 

No. 29— THE HEIRESS OF EGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
No. 28— A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 2 7 -WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas. 

No. 26— FONTELROY, by Francis A, Durivage. 

No. 25-THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 24— THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 23-DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

No. 22-A HEART’S BITTERNESS, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 21— THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta. 

No. 20-ING0MAR, by Nathan D, Urner. 

No. 19— A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mi’s. Mary A. Denison. 
No. 18— ROSAMOND, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh MiUer. 

No. 17-THE HOUSE OF SECRETS, by Mrs. Hairiet Lewis. 
No. 16-SIBYL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 15-THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by May Agnes Fleming. 

No. 14-FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Burke Brentford. 

No. 13 -THE BRIDE ELECT, by Annie Ashmore. 

No. 12-THE PHANTOM WIFE, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

No. 11-BADLY MATCHED, by Helen Corwin Pierce. 

The above works are for sale, by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to anv 
address, postpaid, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

31 Rose Street, New York. 


P. Box 2734. 


iN 


m 


iuL 


Mil's WIFE. 


An Entrancing Emotional Story, 


By BERTHA M. OLAY. 

No. I Of the Primrose Edition ot Copyright Noveis. 


Olotlx. I*x*io©, $1. 


SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

Messrs. Street & Smitb, New York, begin a new serie.s of novels— “The 
Primrose Library”— with “Another Man’s Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay. The 
atorv has enoutfh plot to keep one from falling asleep over it, and it also in- 
dicates the stumbling-blocks and pitfalls which abound everywhere for 
voun^ husbands and wives who think so much about having “a good time” 
that thev have no time left In which to think about reputation and 
chlracte?.-A. Y. Herald, Sept. 10. 

Street & Smith publish the American copyright novel, “Another Man’s 
Wife ” bv Bertha M. Clay. It deals with certain corrupting influences of 
fashi’omUde society, and impressively warns of the dangers that spring 
from them. Its plot is strong and dramatic, and is elaborated with all of 
the qualities of style that have made the author so popular. It is the first 
issue of the new Primrose Series.— Boston Globe, Sept. 16. 

“Another Man’s Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay, Street & Smitlfls Primrose 
Series iralLSle e&ovt toward the repression of the growing evil of 
matrimonial disloyalty. The book is handsomely bound, with a holiday 
look about it— Brooklyn Eagle, Sept. 15. 

Street & Smith of New York ^ 

Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay. The story is effe^tije. “ 

the results certain to attend the sins of only intent 

will not be lost upon those thoughtless 

upon pleasure, little dream of the pitfall ^ 

blind until exposure wrecks happiness. Tioy (A. i.) .r 

Cincinnati Enquirer. 

•■Another Man’s Wife.;- This la one of Bert'>a^^ 
stories. It forcibly and all the tricks and devices 

which“h?perifrw«e’s ^SeSt? ®iUs”the^l&8riS? of 

gte VmSh’s''p™e Idyon of“ pyright Novels, and will not appea, 
elsewhere. — Franklin F'ceman. 


WOMEN’S SECRETS 


The public are at last permitted to take a peep into the 
wonderful and mysterious art of 

“HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.” 

We will soon become a nation of Beauty. Bead how, in the table of 

CO TS : 

THE VALUE OF PERSONAL BEAUTY.— This chapter relates to the heauty 
iu “Genius,” “Streugtii,” “Religion,” “Poetry,” and “Chivalry.” 

THE HISTORY OF BEAUTY,— Mode of acquiring it by the people of different 
nations. What people are the most beautiful? 

VARIOUS STANDARDS OF BEAUTY.— Tastes of civilized and uncivilized 
people. The French definition of beauty. 

THE BEST STANDARD OF BEAUTY.— Defines the Head, Hair, Eyes, Cheeks, 
Ears, Nose, Mouth, Bosom, Limbs, and in fact every part of the human form. 

HOW TO RAISE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN.— To newly married people, and 
those who contemplate entering the conjugal state, this chapter alone is 
well worth the price of the book. 

HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.— This chapter is full of information, as it not only 
tells how to beautify every part of the form and features, but gives recipes 
and cures for all the ailments which tend to mar or blemish. 

BEAUTY SLEEP.— To be beautiful it is not necessary to be like the bird that 
seeks its nest at sunset and goes forth again at sunrise. You will here find 
the required time to be spent iu bed, the positions most conducive to health, 
facts legardiug ventilation, bed-clothes, adornments, and other useful hints. 

BEAUTY FOOD.— Instructs how, when, and where to eat, and also treats of 
Digestion, Complexion, Foods which color the skin, etc. 

HOW TO BE FAT.— The information imparted in this chijpter will be a boon to 
thin, delicate women, as it tells what to eat and what to avoid, also what to 
drink and how to dress when plumpness is desirable. 

HOW TO BE LEAN.— If corpulent women will carefully follow the instructions 
herein, they will be happy and enjoy life, 

BEAUTY BATHING AND EXERCISE. — This chapter is intended for every 
one to I'ead and profit by. There is no truer saying than “Cleanliness is next 
to Godliness.” 

EFFECTS OF MENTAL EMOTIONS ON BEAUTY, — After you read this, we 
feel safe in saying that you will not give way to anger, surprise, fright, grief, 
vexation, etc., but will at all times strive to be cheerful and make the best 
of life, 

HOW BEAUTY IS DESTROYED.— The women are warned in this chapter 
against quack doctors and their nostrums, the dangers of overdosing, and 
irregular habits. 

HOW TO REMAIN BEAUTIFUL. — It is just as easy for those that are beauti- 
ful to remain so as to allow themselves to fade away like a flower which 
only blooms for a season. 

HOW TO ACQUIRE GRACE AND STYLE.— Without grace and style beauty 
is lost. They are as essential as a beautiful face. To walk ungracefully or 
awkwardly is not only vulgar but detrimental to the health. 

THE language of BEAUTY,— This chapter will enable you to read a per- 
son and learn his or her character, without the use of a phrenological chart. 

CORSETS.- When and what kind should be worn. How they were originated 
and by whom. 

CYCLING. — The latest craze for ladies is fully described in this chapter. 


WOMEN’S SECRETS; op, How to be BeautM 

THE BEST SELLING BOOK OF THE DAY. 


Just Out. I*rice SS Cents. 

For Hale by all Newsdealers. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Hose Htreet# 



BEN NAMED; 

OR,, 

THE CHILDKEN OF FATE. 

By SYLVANUS COBB, Jr. 


Street & Smith's Sea and Shore Series, No.8. 

as Oexxts. 


WHAT THE PRESS SAY OF IT. 


•‘Ben Hanied” is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, wbicb recalls 
the deliglitlul stories of the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural 
effects. Indeed, our old friend Harouu A1 Raschid figures prominently in 
this work, and is closely identified with the hero and heroine— the devoted 
Assad and the fair Morgiana. It is a I’omance of pure love, with an in- 
genious and cleverly sustained plot.— Graurf Rapids Democrat, Aug. .1. 

“Ben Hamed” is the title of an Oriental romance not unlike the stories of 
the “Arabian Nights.” It is a romance of pure love. A number of strong 
characters combine with the hero and heroine in the solution of an ingenious 
■plot.— Harrisburg Patriot, July 23. 


Street & Smith of New York have published “Ben Hamed ; or, The Chil- 
dren of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., which is No. 8 of the Sea and Siioue 
Sekies. This book is an Oriental romance, which recalls the “Arabian 
Nights,” without their supernatural effects. The plot is ingenious nnd well 
sus^tained, and brings out a romance of pure love in a charming manner.— 
— Francisco Morning Ccdl, July 21. 

“Ben Hamed” is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., published in 
paper by Street & Smith, New York city. It is clever in the way that all of 
Cobb’s stories are clever. — Dulianapolis News, July 20. 

“Ben Hamed is a capital story, progressive in action, interesting from 
■ the opening line, and with a charming love romance, on which are strung 
many remarkable incidents. — Acton Star, July 21. 

A capital story of Eastern life, which must have been suggested by a 
the •‘Arabian Nights,” is Sylvanus Cobb’s Oriental narrative of 
KBen HamSi or, Tl.e Children of Fate.’- It is admIraMj- told, full of in- 
teS and cannot fail to charm all who begin its perusal. - Montana 

Sun, Sept. 22. ,T 1 j r,r> 

street Ar Smith, of the New York Weekly, have published “Ben 
Hamrt ® o* ihe Children of Fate,” by Sylyanns Cobb. Jr, This is an 
oStai romance, accent, lated by a very strong and ingenious plot.-A,. 

Paul Pioneer Press, July 21. 

^treet * Smith New York, publish in paper covers “Ben Hamed, an 
Oriemal romall^l by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls the delightful stories of 
the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural effects. — Cincinnati 

Enquirer. ^ ^ 

“Ben Hamed.” an Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, is published by 
Street & Smith New York. It is one of Cobb’s characteristic romances, 
H-i^ouii A1 RasVhid being a prominent figure. There is nothing strained or 
unnatural in “Ben Hamed,” it recalling tlie stories of the ‘‘Arabian Nights, 
without their supernatural ofiGotQ.— Minneapolis Tribune, July 21. 


POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT NOVELS, 

BY NOTABLE AUTHORS. 


mniji nn 

..nil 




P^o. 4 

mTT ^ 


ISm OF LI iS 


OR, 


THE WEAVER’S WAR. 


By PROFESSOR WM. HENRY PECK, 

AUTHOR OF 

“Marlin Marduke,” “£15,000 Reward,” “Siballa, 
the Sorceress,” etc. 


From the very opening paragraph this powerful and intensely exciting 
romance enchains the attention and keeps curiosity constantly active. The 
sceue opens in the manufacturing center of Lyons, during a troublesome 
period in her history, when the laboring classes strove to maintain their 
rights against the nobility. The hero, whom fate has made an humble 
workman, finds opportunity for the display of those self-asserting qualities, 
which always force their possessor to the front in every contest. While 
most of the action is thrilling and dramatic, a captivating love episode is 
adroitly interwoven with the main thread of the romance. The mystery 
appertaining to the early life of the Locksmith, the appalling accusation 
which makes him the victim of unseen foes, his fortitude in the most trying 
positions, and his final vindication and reward, are forcibly and sympatheti- 
cally set forth in this well constructed story. 


RRICE, 25 CENTS. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

F. O. Box. 3T34. 31 ROSE STREET. New Tofk. 


Sea and ShORE Series 

Stories of Strange Adventure Atloat and Ashore. 


Issued Moiily. PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. FnUy niDstrated. 


The above-named series is issued in clear, large type- uniform in size with 
“The Select Series,’’ and will consist of the most thrilling and 
ingeniously constructed stories, by popular and experienced writers in the 
field of fiction. The foUowing books are now ready : 

No. 17— FEDOEA,^ founded on tlie famous play of the same name, 
by Yictorieii Sardou. 

No. 16-SIBALLA, THE SORCERESS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 15— THE OOLHEN EAGLE, by Sylranus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 14-THE FORTUNE-TELLER OF NEW ORLEANS, by 
Prof. Wm. Henry Peck. 

No. 13-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO ABROAD, by Alex. 
Robertson, 31. D. 

No. 12— HELD FOR RANSOM, by Lieutenant 3Iurray. 

No. 11-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S SEARCH, by Alex. 
Robertson, M. D. 

No. 10— LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 9-THE MAN IN BLUE, by Mary A. Denison. 

No. 8— BEN HAMED, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 7-CONFESSIONS OF LINSKA. 

No. 6— THE MASKED LADY, by Lieutenant Murray. 

6— THEODORA, from the celebrated play, by Yictorien 
Sardou. 

No. L-THE LOCKSMITH OF LYONS, by Prof. Wm. 
Henry Peck. 

No. 3-THE BROWN PRINCESS, by Mrs. M. Y. Victor. 

No. 2— THE SILVER SHIP, by Lewis Leon. 

No. 1-AN IRISH 3IONTE CRISTO. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, postagb 
FREE, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of price, 
25 cents, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

P. O. BOX 2734. 25-31 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. 


The Secret Service Series, 

( S, fi». S .) 

Comprises the Best Detective Stories by the Best A uthors. 

Issued Monthly. PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. Fully Illustrated. 

This series is enjoying a larger sale than any similar series ever 
published. None but American Authors are represented on our list, and 
the Books are all Copyriglltcd^ and can be had only in the SECRET 
SERVICE SERIES. Bound in Handsome Lithograph Covers. 

LATEST ISSUES: 

No. 29-THE POKER KING, hy Marline Manly. 

No. 28-BOB YOUNGER’S FATE, hy Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 27-THE REVENUE DETECTIVE, hy PoHce Captain 
James. 

No. 26-UNDER HIS THUMB, hy Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 25-THE NAVAL DETECTIVE’S CHASE, hy Ned Bnntline. 
No. 2T-THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE, hy Leander P. 
Richardson. 

No. 23-A MYSTERIOUS CASE, hy K. F. Hill. 

No. 22-THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE, hy Osc^r Maitland. 

No. 21-THE AMERICAN MARQUIS, hy Nick Carter. 

No. 20-THE MYSTERY OF A MADSTONE, hy K. F. Hill. 

No. 19-THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW, hy Tony Pastor. 

No. 18- A WALL STREET HAUL, hy Nick Carter. 

No. 17 -THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL, hy Nick Carter. 

No. 16-THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE, hy Clayton W. 
Cohh. 

No. 15-TOM AND JERRY, hy Tony Pastor. 

No. 14-THE DETECTIVE’S CLEW, hy ^‘Old Hutch.” 

No. 13 -DARKE DARRELL, hy Frank H. Stauffer. 

No. 12— THE DOG DETECTIVE, hy Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 11-THE MALTESE CROSS, hy Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 10-THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE, hy Geo. W. Goode. 

No. 9-OLD MORTALITY, hy Young Baxter. 

No. 8-LITTLE LIGHTNING, hy Police Captain James. 

No. 7 -THE CHOSFN MAN, hy Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 6— OLD STONEWALL, hy Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 5-THE MASKED DETKCTIVE, hy Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 4-THE TWIN DETECTIVES, hy K. F. Hill. 

No. 3-VAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE, hy ^^Old 
Slentli.” ^ 

No. 2-BRUCE ANGELO, hy ‘^Old Sleuth.” 

No. 1-BRANT ADAMS, hy ^M)ld Sleuth.” 

For sale hy all Newsdealers, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price, 
26 cents each, by the Publishers, STKKKT & SMITH, 25-31 Rose Street, New York, 



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Parlor and Chair Cars on Day Trains between Cincinnati and 
Points Enumerated, the Year Round. 


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TITLED A/V\ERICAAIS 

A LIST OF 



WHO HAVE 

iyiapried Foreigners of Parjk. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH ARMORIAL BEARINGS. 


^TREKT SSIVIITH’SS 

HAND-BOOK LIBRARY— NO. 3. 


DE*3C*1co so Oexxts. 


Some Opinions of the Press: 

The title pag-e of this volume is not sufficiently lonK, for besides all it promises it 
neglects to announce that there is also a list of available noblemen who have have not 
yet entered the state of matrimony', and to whom, presumably, American beauty backed 
by American gold may successfully appeal.— A\ Y. Herald, March 16. 

The book is remarkably complete and is valuable as a I’eference. in addition to be- 
ing decidedly interesting.— A’. Y. World, March 18. 

The book gives all the attainable facts and figures concerning ri(;h American girls 
who have married foreigners of more or less distinction. —A'. Y. San, March 14. 

In fact “ Titled Americans” is a book that should be in the hands of each unmarried 
female in this country, and from it she should learn the glorious destiny that she may 
achiew.— M unsei/'s H eekly. 

It furnishes a great deal of information, which will be valuable for reference, con- 
cerning American ladies who have married titled foreigners.— Zlos.cui Saturday Evenino 
Gazette. 

Of course American “g<^ntlemen” cannot “come in” when such a book is produced. 
They will have to wait until some century when women rule Europe and carry all the 
purchasable'tith^s in their own Brooklyn Daily Eayle. 

Embraced in this carefully compiled book, which is vastly entertaining in its way, 
are ijei-sonal sketches of all the bachelor peers of Britain. We take it that the moral of 
the work for our American maidens is, “ Oo thou and do likewise,” and that its mission 
is to show them where and how.— Boston I’imes. 

Here is a volume for which young American women wiU be truly gi’ateful. It con- 
tains the names of two hundred and five American girls who have married foreigners. 
This is of course very exciting reading, and will probably keep many girls awake at 
night, planning to go and do likewise.— Pittdjuroh Bulle in, March 15. 

“Titled Americans” is a valuable and unique work of considerable labor and ex- 
pense, aud something every iierson in society will be interested in.— A'. Y. Etening 
Telegram, March 13. 

Street & Smith have issued a rather unique book, but one that, in these days m hen 
titled foreiirners are gobbling up and carrying oft’ so many American belles and rich 
girls, will not be without use for veievence.— Detroit Tribune. 

The only book of the kind ever published. This is an interesting and unique work 
of considerable labor and expense, and something many society people will be interested 
in as it .tdves a complete record to date of all American ladies who have married titled 
foreigners, illustrated with their armorial bearings. Young ladies traveling abroad 
should not fail to secure a copy as it will be of great assistance in regulating their heart 
strings.- Telegram. 

If anything were needed to crystallize the craze of some American women for titled 
husbands it has been provided in this veritable hand-book for mariiageable maidens 
and ambitious widows. It will doubtless be hidden away in some secret corner of the 
boudoir or carried oft’ in the traveling trunk across the ocean, to be consulted, 
cherished and studied ; while the names of more than two hundred American women 
who have successfully hunted down the titled game will arouse the envy and hasten the 
palpitation of many a husband-hunting aspirant to wedded privileges.— A'. }'. Saturday 
Jieciew, March 8. 







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